


tether between our hearts

by dutiesofcare



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dark fic, Drama, F/M, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Mother-Son Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Padmé Amidala Lives, Post-Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, everybody needs a hug, this is just a really big character study tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 339,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23582470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dutiesofcare/pseuds/dutiesofcare
Summary: Mustafar leaves Padmé with a broken heart, and, after being told that Anakin and her unborn child had died, she goes into hiding. She flees, deep into the outer rim, resolved to escape the Empire's clutches.23 years later, she learns of the existence of a Luke Skywalker, the young Jedi responsible for overthrowing an Empire, defeating Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader. Believing him to be her child, taken from her, she returns to the galaxy determined to find him and make amends for the time they had lost, only to discover that she had given birth to twins.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Leia Organa & Ahsoka Tano, Leia Organa & Darth Vader, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker & Han Solo, Leia Organa/Han Solo, Luke Skywalker & Ahsoka Tano, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader, Padmé Amidala & Ahsoka Tano, Padmé Amidala & Leia Organa, Padmé Amidala & Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Padmé Amidala & Luke Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 854
Kudos: 755





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome to my newest fic. this idea has been haunting me for a while and i've finally managed to write enough to start publishing it here. i hope this will bring justice to the relationship between padmé, leia and luke that we've never gotten to see.
> 
> a special thank you for twitter user @FluffyTimelord, for drawing the most beautiful [fanart](https://twitter.com/worshipfuiness/status/1248735839259164675?s=21) to this story. it's amazing, check it you!
> 
> without any further delay, i hope you enjoy this :)

**Tether Between Our Hearts**

  
_"Amor matris: objective and subjective genitive." - James Joyce_

* * *

Padmé Amidala would never forget that day.

A cold chill reached the base of her spine; she felt disconnected from reality. Being a diplomat, she was trained to pay close attention to details and store every little thing in her mind, in case it would come in handy later. However, that day felt different.

Like an out of body experience, where she had watched everything unfold from afar, and her emotions came a second too late.

That day where everything felt strange; she was numb, a part of her soul having been ripped from her and only her vain body had been left behind. She was disoriented, like her strings to the Force had been abruptly terminated and she bore no connection to life itself anymore. The only coherent thought on her mind was,  _ something bad had happened.  _

Except—she was no Jedi. She hadn’t been privileged at birth with the powers of clairvoyance, and, though she often saw the Force as a curse, in moments like this she wished she had the ability to glimpse into the unknown and understand  _ everything.  _ In moments like this, she wished she was capable of becoming one with the Force, with life itself, therefore being able to say without a shadow of a doubt,  _ something bad had happened.  _

It was fortunate, at least, that, as a former Queen and a Senator, she relied on her instincts just as much as the Jedi relied on one big Force that united them all.

And her instincts were screaming at her.

_ Something bad had happened.  _

Padmé woke up in a strange room. She had no idea where she was — lying in someone else’s bed, for sure. Forcing her body up, she tried to assimilate as much of her surroundings as possible. The chamber looked calm and tidily arranged, with its walls painted in beige and little furniture spread around, no more than what was absolutely necessary to survive. Whoever had designed the place didn’t seem to care about the luxury of life; to them, being alive seemed enough. 

Somehow, the lack of decor brought her  _ peace.  _

_ Peace.  _ That word felt funny on the tip of her tongue. As her senses slowly abandoned their defenses and her memories came back to hers, she realized — she hadn’t savored peace for what seemed a long, long time.

Padmé Amidala wasn’t known for cracking under pressure and panicking. But, at that moment, she  _ did.  _

Her hands unconsciously fell to her own belly; out of concern, out of  _ habit.  _ There were little things she cared for more than for the life growing inside of her — at that moment, she couldn’t think of  _ any.  _ The life flourishing within her and tying them together, forever, in the force. The life that came from nothing but love and happiness and  _ peace. _

Her heart all but stopped at the realization that there was nothing there. Life was no longer there.

Panic grew into despair. She wanted to scream, but her throat was sore. She wanted to sob, but her eyes were dry. She wanted to punch a wall, but her body was motionless.

How could she  _ live  _ when her  _ life  _ had been taken from her?

How could she, who had always answered for life, suddenly become so lifeless?

Padmé wasn’t a Jedi; she couldn’t sense her child, there, or anywhere else. There weren’t any baby memorabilia spread around, there was no baby faintly crying in the distance — there was just silence. A silence so loud that it was deafening her. She worked with facts and figures, and the scenario she was stuck with screamed at her — her child was no longer with her.

Gone. Like everything else she had ever loved and believed in.

Her face was blank. She felt numb. Unsure of how to proceed and unsure of her willingness to proceed. At every blink, a flash of memories from the past days would blind her, accompanied by a wave of sadness that only strengthened her heartbreak.

Tiredly, she fell back to bed. Staring at the ceiling, focusing on nothing but the ache inside of her. Her lower lip haltingly started to tremble, despite her best efforts, and her hands desperately clutched to her neck -  _ like some sort of force was permanently wrapped around it  _ — in whatever illusionary attempts of getting herself to  _ breathe _ .

At last, she realized her life was gone and she was never, ever getting it back.

An uncontrolled sob escaped her, soon followed by another, and another. Only the shell of the person that she used to be. And she mourned for everything she had lost — including herself.

* * *

She wasn’t sure how long it had taken for her to calm herself — it felt like an eternity. Inside of her, there was an unfamiliar emptiness. When she was pregnant, she couldn’t wait to meet her child: to carry that precious life in her own arms, to embrace and protect the innocent living being that came from her. Now, she would give anything for a chance to start over and relish every moment of her pregnancy, to cherish the bond between mother and unborn child — because, it seemed, it would be the only connection they would ever share.

Pushing her grief to the back of her mind, she forced herself to stand up. The best course of action was to treat the situation as a political arena — assess the environment and then make the better choice from there. Being a politician, fighting for the greater good, for what was  _ right,  _ was the only thing no one would ever take from her. Her fire would never be extinguished. Or so she believed.

There was a door in the room, and she frowned at herself for not noticing it before, so immersed in her sorrow had she been. She scanned the room, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon, only to let out a disappointed sigh at the bareness of the space. With no other alternative than to put on a brave face, she stepped outside.

However, the reality that met her was unlike anything Padmé had imagined. Nothing except nature surrounded her, for miles on, it seemed. Around her, only the singing of birds and the swirling of the wind existed. It was so quiet and peaceful that it reminded her of the Lake House in Naboo, where she had wished to raise her child.

_ Stop it,  _ she cursed herself quietly. There was no point in dwelling in days that should have been but never would be.

A sudden movement in the corner of her eyes caught her attention, and she turned around in half a startle. The shock only intensified once she recognized the figure there, sitting above the brown earth with features so uncharacteristic to whom she was. To whom she _ used to be.  _ Someone that she hadn’t seen in such a long time, and it brought a sense of comfort to her heart.

“Ahsoka?!”

The young Togruta alarm after being called upon was even more remarkable. She shifted her stare from the horizon to the woman she had once called her  _ friend  _ and stood up. Her sad eyes were heavy.

“Padmé. You’re awake at last.”

There was awkwardness between them for a few seconds, but it dissolved into thin air when Ahsoka could no longer hold herself back and ran to Padmé, clasping her arms around her into a tight embrace.

A warm embrace that Padmé had once visioned offering to her child in moments of need.

“I’m so relieved you’re okay,” a small voice spoke in her ear.

Padmé allowed herself to abide by her feelings in the so familiar grip, to be  _ vulnerable  _ for a mere moment. But the moment passed, and she pulled back to look at Ahsoka’s face and directly ask, “Ahsoka, what happened?”

The pained expression that took over Ahsoka was loud enough; the young girl who had once been so full of life was now drained — Padmé began to dread hearing the terrible truth, even though she knew she  _ had  _ to.

Ahsoka’s hands slipped from around Padmé’s shoulders to cling securely to her hands. She knew the words she had yet to say would be the hardest she’d ever had to hear, and she disliked being in the position of potentially ruining her life.

Or whatever was left of it.

“Anakin…” Ahsoka’s throat was dry and she had to force the words out, “Anakin is dead.”

Padmé took in a long breath, doing her best to steady herself. Her last memory of Anakin had been in Mustafar when he  _ begged  _ her to rule the galaxy by his side when he  _ broke  _ her heart. After that, everything was black.

When she thought about Anakin, she only thought of pain. But when she thought of Anakin dead, she only felt pain.

She, who had just been so insistent on eye contact, found out she could no longer sustain it. Every beat of her heart was a punch to her chest. 

“What… What about Obi-Wan?”

“He’s dead, too. They all are. Every Jedi that ever was. Even Master Yoda. They’re gone. A stroke blew through the Force the moment it happened, and I… I couldn’t breathe. There was so much life, and then, there was nothing.”

She knew Ahsoka’s pain to be on a deeper level than hers, as she was strong in the Force, and she was one with all the other Jedi. However, Ahsoka didn’t know Anakin as she did, and she certainly didn’t share the emotional connection the two of them had.

And it took everything from her not to dissolve herself into the grief she felt for the loss of her husband.

Her lip turned into a thin line that tried to mimic a smile. “He won, then. Palpatine won. He killed every Jedi that had a chance of standing against him. He killed every hope we might have had of ever seeing the galaxy free from his grasp again.”

Ahsoka strengthened the bond between their hands and brought them close to her own heart. “Not so long I’m here.”

It was a small, perhaps even vain promise, but the idea of people unwilling to let the spark of freedom die spoke to her, brought her some sense of comfort. She wanted nothing more than to make her ground and stand tall, too.

However, for the first time in her life, she did not feel like fighting.

“Ahsoka…. My baby. Did you see my baby?”

Just like that, Ahsoka’s orange skin became pale and she loosened her grip on Padmé's hands. Her eyes became watery, and she only didn’t give in to her every emotion because it wasn’t her  _ place _ .

“I’m so sorry, Padmé.”

Biting hard down on her lip, Padmé merely nodded. Although she had  _ known,  _ from the moment she woke up and found herself alone, hearing it said aloud made it real, and her agony was unspeakable. She had yet to face this much misery.

Still, she held herself strong.

“Was it… a boy? Or a girl?”

She felt silly for asking such a question. She had just lost her husband, she had just lost her baby, and she was concerned with irrelevant details. But if she could not give a face to her child, she would like to at least give them a name.

“By the time I got to you, it was already gone. I’m sorry, Padmé, I don’t know.”

Ahsoka’s insistent apologies would soon drive her  _ insane.  _ She wasn’t the first person to lose everything dear to her, neither would she be the last. It would be ridiculous to think she wouldn’t survive it.

Or wouldn’t she?

She looked away, trying to force her tears back to where they shouldn’t have escaped from. Her gaze lost upon the horizon brought her to the second question that permeated her mind, “Where are we?”

“Raada,” Ahsoka replied in a quiet voice. “It’s a quiet farming moon in the Outer Rim. It doesn’t have much, but it has enough. And most importantly, you’ll be safe here.”

_ Safe.  _ Of course, because she was a senator with too loud a voice in a galaxy now ruled by evil. And she was the wife—widow—of a haunted Jedi Knight; even if people didn’t exactly know about their relationship, it ought to have caught  _ someone’s _ attention. She wondered, however, what was the point of being kept alive if she didn’t have anything left to live for. 

“That’s not all.”

The hesitancy hidden within her words spoke loud enough to regain Padmé’s focus, although her mind seemed to linger just a few seconds longer on the life that she could have lived. The life that had slipped through her fingers. 

“Padmé Amidala is dead,” Ahsoka grieved, “She died, alongside her child. She was buried. She was  _ mourned _ . You can’t come back, not now, not ever; not as long as you want to survive. Not as long as the veil of evil and deception reigns upon us.”

She simply nodded, although it was unclear whether she was lost amidst the new information just presented to her or that of a past not so distant. And then, she spoke lower than a whisper.

“There’s nothing to go back to.”

And she smiled sadly at Ahsoka, who looked at her with condescending eyes. Ahsoka, too, had lost nearly everything that seemed important to her, but her losses appeared to be so  _ minimal  _ compared to the pain Padmé was enduring. Or, perhaps, she was just being selfish. 

The realization that everyone in the galaxy had lost the day the Empire set its claws on freedom had yet to plague her.

“I’ve got you a new scandoc, and several hundred credits. It’s not much, but you’ll manage to survive for the next months while you recover,” Ahsoka tightened her grip on the hands that Padmé had forgotten that were united. “Padmé. You’ll get through this.”

Even if Padmé was starting to think she didn’t  _ want  _ to.

“What about you?” her voice was horse from all the emotions she was holding back. “What are you going to do next?”

“Whatever I have to do next. I’ll fight,” Ahsoka said fiercely. “I won’t sit idle and watch the Empire destroy everything that I once stood for. I know others will join, too.”

Although she hadn’t intended to guilt-trip the senator, Ahsoka realized the fault in her words the moment she said them — even if Padmé herself didn’t seem to hear it.

“I wish you could come with me. I wish it wasn’t so damn complicated.”

At last, Padmé broke their physical contact and crossed her arms under her breasts—they were swollen and sore, most likely craving to have a child feeding on them. She did her best to ignore that sensation. “My fight is over, Ahsoka. I fought, and I lost. It’s time I make way for someone else’s fight. For  _ your  _ fight.”

Once again, startling Padmé as she went, Ahsoka threw herself into another hug. Padmé was taken aback, at first, and then—she was warm. Understanding that, in her core, Ahsoka still was the child she had come to know and love a few years before. Her presence almost compensated for those she wished to have by her side.

* * *

Padmé Amidala would never forget that day.

The day when she came home, after an exhaustive day at work, turned on the holovision and saw her life crumbling before her eyes.

It was the first Empire Day ever since Palpatine seized power over the known universe — and, on a personal note, two days before the anniversary of her child’s death. The child that had never drawn a breath.

Her anxiety was building up to that date; for the past few days, she couldn’t think of anything else,  _ even  _ if she didn’t allow herself to think about it at all. Hence why she didn’t welcome any other stressors at the end of her day.

After Ahsoka had left — in her mission to save the galaxy by herself, as it seemed — she had allowed herself to grieve and cry and scream. Until she had no tears left to sob and no shrieks left to wail, and she realized she couldn’t spend the rest of her days like that. She couldn’t exactly envision a future for her, but any prospect of a future was better than no future at all.

As soon as the first rays of light shined on the next morning, Padmé had set herself on a journey to the nearest town center. It had been a long walk amidst nature, amidst the humming of the birds, the flowing of the creek, the rustling of wild animals — and it had brought her peace. A peace that her chaotic mind hadn’t seen inside her troubled little cabin, and she welcomed it; for the first time, she came close to understanding the serenity that the Force might have brought to the Jedi.

Not that it mattered, anymore. They were all gone, just like the religion they dedicated their lives to.

When she arrived at the nearest village, she was welcomed with glares. Nobody approached her, but neither did they stop staring. She buckled up, assuming from their reception that they didn’t get many visitors — if at all.

In her head, she went over the story she had come up with during her journey, in case anyone asked who she was, or where she came from. Paz Naminé was her new name, her new  _ identity _ ; chosen for the phonetics similarities with her birth name, Padmé Naberrie, so it’d be easier for her to respond to — and, more importantly,  _ Paz  _ was also the equivalent to  _ peace  _ in Nabooian, the mother language of her homeworld. A gentle nuance brought by Ahsoka that made her face light up.

Paz Naminé was a widow whose husband and child had died in the Clone Wars, leaving her all alone. Unable to live in a world surrounded by little reminders of their existence, she had left and sought a quiet place to start over, without the constant remembrance that they were gone — hence ending up on a small, calm farming Moon such as Raada. Her story was too close to reality, but she knew that the only way to start a new identity was by sticking to a story close to home — no matter how much it hurt.

Eventually, she landed herself a job on a farm in the outskirts of the village as a laborer, which mainly consisted of harvesting the crops. The pay wasn’t much, but it was enough to cover any necessities she might have. Somedays, however, when the Lady of the house was absent or had fallen ill, she was tasked with looking after the toddlers — a boy of five, Taro, and a girl of four, Safira. Those days, she hurt the most. 

She had grown to love and care for them, of course, they were sweet and tender and, more times than often, mischievous. They were  _ children  _ and therefore stood for everything that children stood for. However, she tried her best to keep her distance — before she ended up loving them as her  _ own.  _

Because, again and again, she would find herself picturing her child looking like Safira, if a girl, or looking like Taro, if a boy. And she hated herself for it.

On that particular day, she had been asked to look after the kids, and they had ended up giving her more trouble than their usual behaviors. They had asked her to play outside, to which she naturally agreed, staying behind to tidy up the mess of toys they had left in the living room. By the time she finally thought to check on them, she found them covered in mud, in their brand new clothes, brought by their father on one of his trips to a fancy Core world, in the middle of a mudball fight.

Padmé shouted at them, her blood rushing in her veins, ordering them to stop. Instead, as if previously planned, the children threw mud at her, dirtying both her clothes and her skin. Their carefree laughter was the only thing standing between her and her desire to  _ strangle  _ them.

Mrs. Abdallah got home just in time to find them in the middle of their act of defiance, and she was mad like Padmé had never seen her. Safira and Taro quieted down at the sight of their mother and lowered their heads, afraid of the lecturing and the grounding that was still to come.

Padmé herself wasn’t off the hook when Mrs. Abdallah came to find her afterward, as she tried to clean some of the dirt away from her face and arms. The words of disappointment at her own incompetence, though spoken quietly, were so loud in her ears she thought her head was going to explode. She was told to go home earlier, to clean herself properly up, and that, once a proper nanny had been found, she would no longer be asked to babysit the children.

She went home with a heavy heart. She assumed she was going to be fired, but being separated from the children she had come to know in the past year was, somehow, the worst punishment.

She had failed, and she wondered if she would have failed her child just as much.

Her head was pounding when she got home, and it continued to do so even after her long, relaxing bath. She considered going straight to bed, but the senator buried deep inside of her would never allow her to sleep idle if not attuned to the political sphere of the galaxy.

Especially on a day as important as Empire Day.

Settling on the fuzzy couch of her home, Padmé turned on the holovision to find Palpatine’s face — as hideous as ever. He was giving some great speech about the importance and the power of the Empire, receiving rounds of applause as he went.

What caught her attention, however, wasn’t the Emperor and his delusions of grandeur. It was the person standing behind him — Palpatine’s second hand. They stood tall and powerful in the podium, hands clasped at their waist, projecting a sense of superiority at anyone who dared to look at them. They hid behind a dark mask, behind a dark armor, so still that they could be mistaken for a droid. The only sign of life was the subtle, mechanical sound of their breathing, colliding with the Emperor’s words. 

And the Emperor finally named them, him, “Darth Vader.”

_ Darth Vader. _

Her breath was caught in her throat and her eyes became wild. The color drained from her face as Obi-Wan’s words to her, said such a long time before, made it back to her mind and realization crept into her.

_ “Palpatine is the Sith Lord we’ve been looking for.” _

_ “Anakin became his new apprentice.” _

She had been blind enough not to believe him back then, even though she  _ knew _ , deep inside of her, that something was  _ wrong _ . The person to whom she had fallen in love was so subtly changing that she missed every sign of his fall.

_ “Anakin has turned to the dark side.” _

_ “He is in grave danger. From himself.” _

_ “He has become a very great threat.” _

Padmé couldn’t breathe; she was frozen within time, staring at the blued image of  _ Darth Vader,  _ feeling his eyes piercing her  _ soul.  _ Trying to dismantle all the good that it held to, because, ultimately, their love for each other had once meant his and her soul were made of the same essence.

_ “I have seen a security hologram… of him… killing younglings.” _

Anakin was gone. That man standing next to Palpatine wasn’t the love of her life; he was a  _ murderer,  _ who had murdered even  _ herself.  _ Her mouth had fallen open in despair and silent yells escaped her lips — hollow; hollowness became her.

She grasped at her neck, desperately trying to free her airway of the force strong around it. The force that had come from  _ him,  _ from his vendetta against her. And suddenly her hands fell to her barren womb, where she hadn’t carried life in almost a year.

She found herself slowly losing any and every connection to the world weighing in around her. Her vision became blurry, unable — and unwilling — to make the shape of the black armor in front of her; she felt dizzy, and, worst of it all, she felt unbelievably  _ alone _ , like she hadn’t ever felt in her exile. 

The thought was loud in her head — Anakin had killed his own child, too.

_ “Anakin is the father, isn’t he? I’m so sorry.” _

Turned out, she was sorry, too. She just hadn’t known it before.

* * *

Padmé Amidala would never forget that day.

The day when the entire galaxy was celebrating. The day that oppression had finally lost as the second Death Star crumbled into ashes, taking Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader themselves with it. The day when it finally felt safe to breathe again.

She had been tending to Safira Abdallah’s crops when the news came through. When Mrs. Abdallah had been shot down during an uprising, after Imperial forces had arrived on the moon to exploit its population and steal their every harvest, leaving them barren and to starve, the stripped land had been left to the youngest child. Safira was barely past the legal age, still a child in her essence, suffering from a broken heart over the loss of both her parents and bearing the responsibility of managing the farm.

_ A child,  _ of merely 22 years old. Padmé felt for her, regardless if she herself had been already worked her way up the Senate as the representative of Naboo by that age. But she had been raised for a political career, whereas Safira had had her entire youth to enjoy herself. Taro, one year older than his sister, had left in the prior year to join the Imperial Academy, but effectively dropped out once he heard the news of the death of his mother, returning to Raada to be content with life as a farmer.

Safira often turned to Padmé in her moments of need — which came more often than Padmé cared to tell. The two of them had grown admirably close during her adolescent years, with Safira coming to Padmé with matters of the body and the heart that she didn’t feel comfortable bringing to her own mother.

Padmé didn’t mind — in fact, she embraced those moments, believing that, had she had a baby girl, her daughter would also come to her, to lavish her with her many years of life and wisdom. She had grown remarkably close to the Abdallah children during her many years working for them, to the point they even offered her own quarters in their big house once they gained control of the facilities — to which she tried to decline, but after loads of begging, she caved in.

She was tending to the harvest when Taro came running to her, completely out of breath — and something told her that his running hadn’t been responsible for his state of euphoria. He babbled many words she couldn’t possibly comprehend until he grabbed her by the wrist and they were both running back towards the house. 

She found Safira fallen to her knees, inches away from the blued image of the holovision. She had her hand hardly pressed to her mouth, indicating both consternation and a desire to keep her cries muffled, with streams of tears freely running down her cheeks. Padmé gave her shoulder a tight squeeze, trying to comfort the young woman, before kneeling down as well and diverging her attention to the hologram in front of her.

_ “The Empire has fallen,” _ the reporter spoke, in a quest to remain impartial but the light in her eyes betraying her.  _ “A second Death Star, built in secrecy from the public eye, has been destroyed by Rebel forces, killing both Emperor Palpatine and his second hand, Darth Vader, who were present in the battle station during the moment of attack.” _

The hand that rested on Safira’s shoulder suddenly lost all its strength and was pulled down by gravity. Padmé was astonished; she had dreamed about this day for years, she had followed the Resistance’s work in the shadows, but she had  _ never  _ expected this day to come, much less that she would still be alive to see its glory.

A glory born from everything that she and millions of other sentient beings had died for.

For a brief moment, however, a wave of sadness brushed her feelings. Darth Vader was  _ dead _ , taking along every remnant of the man that had once been Anakin Skywalker.

The man for whom she and her child had died.

The thought soon escaped from her mind, as her lips turned up in a joy that she hadn’t known in many, many years. “It’s over.”

Of course, she knew better than that. As a retired politician, she knew that the ultimate fight was just beginning — the Empire wouldn’t simply cease from existence from dawn to dusk. Still, the first step had been taken,  _ the Alliance was winning _ . They had started the path to making the galaxy a better place.

Taro, at last, joined them on the floor, taking Padmé’s hand on his. “I wish Mama was still alive to see this.”

Safira nodded. “At least, Mama can finally rest in peace.”

Padmé remained silent. She, too, wished that she could be sharing that moment with her child — with a child that, because of the Empire itself, did not live. In her solitude, however, part of her was thrilled that the child had not grown under the shadow of that tyrannical reign of power and abuse; that they had not spent half their life watching worlds burn and innocent people agonize in unfair pain.

On most days, that thought came as a source of relief to her.

The hologram continued, switching from the reporter to the picture of a previously unmentioned figure.  _ “Luke Skywalker, Rebel pilot and fighter responsible for the destruction of both battle stations, has declined all requests to make a comment. Thanks to his fearless actions, the destiny of the galaxy lies on a different path.” _

Right then, Padmé could have sworn she was seeing a  _ ghost. _

The picture of that man, of that young man, although still and lifeless, seemed to be looking directly at her. He looked at her with sad, but kind eyes — the same eyes she had seen over two decades before, on Anakin Skywalker’s face. Those big sad eyes, full of life, full of stories, that reflected the vastness of the universe in them. Eyes that spoke of pain, that spoke of loss, but that also spoke of an unwillingness to give up. She gasped loudly.

She had seen those eyes before.

“Paz, are you okay?” Taro suddenly asked, taken aback by her sudden display of agitation.

“You’re pale, Paz,” Safira noticed, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She  _ had _ , hadn’t she?! No; it couldn’t be. Not a ghost, but a completely different person that, when she looked at him, filled a hole in her unmended heart. When she looked at him, she no longer felt hollow.

It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?  _ Could it?  _ No; it couldn’t be. He shared his eyes, and he shared his  _ name _ .

Luke Skywalker.

At night, she had dreamed of him.

A nudge to her leg brought her back to reality, and she looked at the two adults that she considered all but her children with spooked eyes. Then, she regained her composure, and said, “I’m  _ fine _ .”

And for the first time in twenty-three years, Padmé Amidala  _ meant  _ it.

She was fine, and there was only one thing in her mind.

She had to find him.

Her son.


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for your amazing response to this story :)

“You’re  _ leaving _ ?!”

When Padmé told Taro and Safira that she was going to leave Raada, she had expected them to react with rage and sadness — but the look of abandon in their eyes caught her so off guard that she was glad she had been sitting, for the ground completely disappeared beneath her.

“I know this comes as a shock,” Padmé continued, unable to look at their eyes any further; the disappointment there,  _ directed at her _ , was too evident. “But this is something I must do.  _ For myself _ .”

Which she considered a good argument, as she had spent the last two decades of her life serving them, but hearing herself speak only made her feel  _ selfish  _ — going after a child who had never met her, who had most likely a whole family of his own, with every prospect of only bringing turmoil to said family, and leaving behind a family of  _ her own.  _ A family that, although failing in blood ties, succeeded in every other aspect of love and communion. 

Yet, she  _ had  _ to go. It would be different if she had willingly given up on her child, but she hadn’t — her son,  _ Luke Skywalker,  _ had been unrightfully taken away from her arms, from her  _ womb,  _ and if she couldn’t confront the people responsible for such a life-changing crime, then she would at least embrace the possibility of seeing her son again.

Even if she never got to make amends with him; even if she would never get those twenty-three years back — she just wanted to see him, and tell him that he was never loved by anyone more than by her.

Even if she thought him to be dead.

“I hear you—but  _ why _ ?” Safira asked, on the verge of collapsing. She seemed to be taking the news on a more personal note than her brother, or he was doing an incredible job of hiding his own emotions. “Why do you  _ suddenly  _ have to go? What’s changed? I thought you were happy here—I thought  _ we  _ were happy.”

“I was happy here. I  _ am _ ,” she corrected herself. When she had learned about Luke, she knew that she had to find him, no matter what cost. But she did not know it would be this hard to  _ go _ , and she was only realizing it. “But something from my past has just found me, and now  _ I  _ must find it.”

“If you must go, then you should go,” Taro spoke hoarsely, nearly indifferent — gaining him a pointed glare from his sibling. “We won’t get in your way.”

“Taro, shut up—Pazzy, you can’t be  _ serious _ . Our whole lives, whenever we asked, you’ve told us your past was  _ dead.  _ That dwelling on the past didn’t do anyone good, because it was  _ gone,  _ and you would never get it back. What happened to that?!”

A funny feeling came from her heart; she hadn’t been called by that sweet nickname ever since the kids grew too old for it, and she wondered if Safira had done it to destabilize her — and doing it successfully. She held her hands together, so tightly they were turning white. For the past two days, she had been preparing herself for this conversation, while starting to make arrangements for her one-way trip, and it was going so badly she was starting to have a headache. 

“Things have changed—”

“You mean, the Empire’s fallen?” Taro interfered, at last showing bits of his discontent. “The Empire and Darth Vader might have died, but it’s still dangerous to go out there. The Imperial officers were the ones responsible for directly terrorizing us, and they’re still  _ there _ .”

“No, Taro, I  _ know  _ that,” she sighed heavily, tiredly. No one knew that more than her. She was still a Queen and a Senador—or, at least, in her  _ soul  _ she was. Because of that, she wondered if her innate desire to go also resided in a subconscious calling to go back to the  _ fight _ . 

“Then why are you going?” Safira’s voice grew higher pitched every turn she spoke. “How can you just jeopardy your safety over some  _ ghosts  _ from the past? How can you have so much disregard for your own life? How can you have so much disregard for… us?!”

Padmé forced her lips up in a small smile, trying to be as comforting as possible. “Because I am leaving doesn’t mean I care any less for either of you.”

“I thought we were all you had,” Safira carried on, refusing to hear anything that had just been said. Then, lower, “You are all we have.”

“Safira,” she said her name tenderly, yet carefully. Bringing herself forward, she found Safira’s hand in hers, then Taro’s. “I’ve known the two of you for nearly all your lives. I’ve seen you through good and bad, I’ve watched you struggle and cope to survive. I’ve always been one step behind in case you fall. I’ve given you my love and everything else I could have offered. Because of that, I know it’s time I step aside and allow you to fly solo. It’s time to grow up.”

They both felt like being talked down like when they were simply children, with no other trouble in mind than what they would have for dinner. And, as far as their memory went, Paz Naminé had always been  _ there _ .

“We’ll be fine,” Taro assured, matter-of-factly. “You’ve taught us well. You can go in peace, Paz. You don’t have to worry about us. We can take it from here.”

“Oh, Taro, I will never stop worrying about you,” Padmé said heavily—where had that misty layer on the back of her eyes come from?— “I  _ am  _ at peace leaving you two, because I know I’ve passed on all my wisdom and knowledge to you. Even if you make mistakes—trust me, you will—I know that you are strong enough to fix it and rise above. But a piece of my heart will always stay with you.”

She allowed silence to flow for a while.

“The Force will always tie us together.”

Not everybody knew about the Force — in fact,  _ most people  _ had never heard of it in their lives, especially under the shadow of the Empire, whose efforts to locate and eliminate all those chosen by the Force were impeccable. Still, Padmé’s work to tell the children stories of how the Force bound every life united was just as flawless.

She knew that her old peers were doing the same to those close to them.

She knew that someone had heard.

Otherwise, Luke Skywalker wouldn’t have risen from the dust of nowhere to bring down an entire government.

His father’s son he was.

Safira brought her free hand to her mouth, hiding any emotion that tried to escape. “Paz, you know that we don’t believe in that  _ stuff _ .”

“I know,” she merely shrugged. “Just because you don’t believe, it doesn’t make it any less  _ true _ .”

She laughed the comment away, hearing her brother remark, “I still don’t understand how  _ you _ , such an intelligent woman, can believe in all that mumbo jumbo.”

Compressing her lips in a snarky smirk, she shook her head sideways. “I believe it because I’ve seen the Force do wonderful things. I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe, and…”

And the Force had connected her and her son again; it was the only explanation. She wasn’t Force sensitive — and she was  _ glad  _ she wasn’t — but she wanted to believe that the Force worked in mysterious ways; that it had torn them apart only to bring them back together in the end.

At the end, when they would no longer be haunted. Her, by her past. Him, by oppression and tyranny.

“Can you at least tell us  _ why  _ you’re leaving?” Safira pleaded, nearly desperate. “Just… A reason. Because this feels so unexpected.”

“I can’t tell you,” she said, then grimaced. “Not yet. I need to be certain. I need to make sure the universe isn’t playing some sort of sick joke with me. Then, I’ll tell you everything.”

That thought lingered in the back of her head. As certain as she was, as much as she could feel it in her  _ soul _ , there was always the possibility that Luke Skywalker wasn’t her son, but someone else’s. She couldn’t say it out loud, not until she met  _ him,  _ or her heartbreak would kill her if it all came to fall apart. At her age, a heartbreak might just be  _ too much to bear _ . 

The young lady’s eyes lit up. “Does that mean we’ll see you again?”

Frowning, Padmé assured, “Of course. Taro, Safira, you’re my family. You’re all I’ve got,” up to that moment, that much was  _ true.  _ “Leaving forever was never an option.”

* * *

Saying goodbye was harder than they all had expected.

The siblings had taken Padmé to the nearest city port — that just happened to be a few hours away by speeder from where they resided — where she would board on a ship to Hosnian Prime, and then, to anywhere else she ought to go. It wasn’t a fancy ship, far from it, far from all the diplomatic ships she used to take back in her prime days, but she had long stopped caring for ornamentals. So long as it took her to where she needed to go, it was fine by her.

She didn’t have much with her. She had never realized how little she actually needed to live until she had started to pack — an irony, compared to all the extravaganza she used to be surrounded with in her days at the palace of Naboo, or even at the Senate. She carried a satchel bag over her shoulder and held a duffel bag in her hand, and that was it. She was fit to go.

Money wasn’t an issue, either. Growing old in little Raada, with nothing to do and even less to spend on, she had managed to save a big part of her salary over the years. She had intended to leave the money for the kids, hopefully so they would buy themselves a life anywhere  _ else _ , but it was now her gateway to the rest of the galaxy.

To her unknown son.

She had to hide the shy, anxious smile that appeared on her thin lips whenever she thought of him.

“Well, I guess this is it,” Taro broke the silence, after several minutes of the three of them simply standing there, admiring the big ship from afar.

Safira nodded, unable to look back at the older woman. “It’s a big ship. I’ve never seen one so big. You’re sure you want to get in? Have you ever flown in one of these?”

“It’s how I got here,” Padmé replied pointedly, receiving a muffed assent from her. She wouldn’t lie, there were tingles in her spine and butterflies in her stomach, but it didn’t come from the prospect of flying. In fact, she hadn’t seen the stars from up close in such a long time she couldn’t wait for it.

“I’ve never flown before,” Safira carried on, with little elegance. She had a habit of rambling on and on whenever she felt nervous. “I guess I wasn’t born for this life. I’d probably feel ill the entire journey. Yeah, no, my place is here, on the ground.”

Padmé’s instant reaction was remembering Obi-Wan— _ heck _ , that was a name she hadn’t thought of in years. There wasn’t a single hyperspace trip they had taken together that hadn’t been filled with the man’s incessant whining about how much he hated to fly _.  _

He lingered a moment longer in her mind, and then she put him to rest.

“You’re in  _ one  _ corner of the galaxy. Safira. There is so much to see, so much to do out there. And life passes by  _ so fast _ . You shouldn’t waste it by staying in your comfort zone. Put yourself out there, take some risks. I promise you, it’ll be worth it,” said Padmé. She had buried her past life so deep inside of her she was just then coming to realize how much she missed it.

“Huh. Isn’t that what you did?” Taro dared ask, his comment attracting both of their glares at him. He cleared his throat, “I mean, you ran away and settled in a hellhole like Raada.”

Padmé sighed heavily. “I did it because I had no other  _ choice _ .”

“Didn’t you?” Taro went on, unfazed. “I know, you’re a survivor of the Clone Wars, and you lost your entire life to it. But that shouldn’t be a reason to stop living and hide away in a  _ corner of the galaxy,  _ should it? I think that should just be another motive to live. In the name of all those that you’ve lost.”

She agreed with his argument; however, her identity would never allow her the simplicities of a common life. “I’m afraid the truth is much more complex than that.”

“Is it?” he raised an eyebrow. “Well, you never  _ did  _ talk about your past, anyway.”

“As I said, my past is far too complex,” she smiled sadly. “One day. I promise, when the dust settles.”

Maybe their silence meant agreement; maybe their silence came due to the ship’s captain loudly yelling at the passengers to get aboard, for they were soon leaving.

Safira turned to her with watery eyes; she was remarkably taller than Padmé, yet she had never felt so  _ small.  _ “You promise you’ll call?”

Padme's simper was reassuring. “You promise you’ll visit?”

“You didn’t provide an address.”

Padmé chuckled soundlessly, before stepping forward to hug the young woman. The embrace was warm and tight, as if to make up for all the times in the future Safira would need her by her side and she wouldn’t be  _ there _ . Spying Taro from the corner of her eye, she extended one of her arms towards him, bringing him into her motherly fold.

It lasted the quickest eternity, and she pulled away after giving each of them a kiss in the forehead. The only reason why she was managing to hold herself together was due to her refusal to think of it as  _ a goodbye,  _ even if everything was about to drastically change — and she had yet to find out if for better or for worse.

“Alright, kids, off you pop,” she gave them a stern look, grabbed both her bags, and turned around without a second glance. Determined to make it inside before she allowed herself to feel anything.

She had nearly reached the ramp when a voice called for her, forcing her to look back over her shoulder.

“Paz? May the Force be with you.”

They didn’t believe in it, but she did, so they said it for her — and it meant  _ everything _ . 

And— _ heck,  _ she was going to need it.

* * *

Once inside, Padmé found the most isolated seat in sight, settled herself in, and buried her face in her hands. Breath in, breath out — she had said many goodbyes in her life, but she didn’t remember them being this hard. 

Maybe because she had never gotten the chance to kiss her child or her husband adieu and put them to eternally rest made it all entirely different. Walking away from people was harder than walking away from  _ ghosts _ .

She pulled out a small holocube from her pocket and it flickered the media picture of Luke Skywalker, the same one she had been studying and analyzing and getting herself addicted to for the past three days, ever since she had learned about him. By now, she had it memorized; still, looking at it brought her some unfamiliar sense of comfort.

Like looking at a piece of herself.

She closed the holocube in the palm of her hand — it was going to be worth it. It  _ had  _ to be.

* * *

The journey to Hosnian Prime was long and exhausting, yet Padmé remained alert. Her years as queen and senator had taught her to never let down her guard, otherwise she would endanger herself and her decoys.

Some habits were hard to die. Even if she were no longer a queen or a senator — or anyone else that might have mattered. Even if she had spent two decades in exile.

Even if, in her truest form, she was no more than a  _ ghost _ .

Her old ways had been old and unused, however — and the years on her bones did not help. Wearily, she laid her head against the metallic walls of the ship and closed her eyes, under the promise she would open them right after.

Padmé’s bare feet were touching Naboo’s sacred soil again; she stood high on the green of its hills, hills that hummed with life. She loved it here; ever since she was a little child, learning her way into diplomacy, she would seek refuge in the wild mountains. From the distance, she could see the vastness of the lakes that Naboo was made of, and the Lake House where she had spent most of her childhood summers resided somewhere down the hill, by the water.

It was beautiful. Beauty like she had never seen. 

And, above all, it was  _ peaceful.  _ Peaceful like the known galaxy had never known. Even if the galaxy had faked it, the Emperor had stripped that comfort away from everywhere and everyone.

Not in Naboo, though. Not in the land she felt rightful enough to call her own.

Nothing could get to her there. She felt like a child free from worries, unbounded to grow.

In the distance, something started to crawl towards her. Padmé froze on her spot; had evil followed her there? Had she finally been found by all those that would kill if they learned she was alive?

It jumped onto her and she fell with her back to the ground. The sun that was shining bright above her suddenly disappeared, being hidden by the soft traits of a child. A child with eyes as blue as the clear sky and hair as gold as the sunshine. 

“Luke!” Padmé exclaimed warmly. Of course it was him, who else would it be? Who would follow an innocent child and his mother across the vastness of the universe?

“Mummy!” the little boy yelped, out of breath. He was laughing, loudly, and freely laughing for managing to scare his mother and drop her to the ground without any elegance. He was, most importantly, a  _ child _ .

Her child. The child that no one would ever steal from her. Not as long as she lived.

And they laughed, and laughed, and laughed. Until a tall shadow hovered over them and ceased all happiness, all innocence.

The shadow that belonged to Darth Vader.

Padmé’s first instinct was to protect her son in her arms, but the child was no longer there. The child was  _ gone _ , replaced by a pre-adolescent standing tall by his father’s side. Copying his father’s posture in every aspect, save from the black hard armor.

“He’s coming with me, Padmé.”

His voice was dull and mechanical and it hurt her ears, so she pressed her hands against them to block the pain; the pain that came, above all, from his threat. She wanted to scream, but she learned she no longer had a voice.

“He is strong with the Force. He will do well to join the dark side.”

The heartbreak was, somehow, familiar to her. She thought she had experienced it before, although she could not remember why. “No! You will not take him from me—”

Suddenly, she was on her knees. The sun had all but descended to earth itself and set everything on fire — it smelled of ash. She was on her knees, her hands gripping tightly to her own neck, and she couldn’t breathe.

He was taking both her life and her will to live away with him.

There was a nudge to her arm, and Padmé abruptly joined the realm of the awake again. She blinked slowly a couple of times, tuning herself to her surroundings — to where she was and to  _ why  _ she was where she was. She sighed in relief realizing all those vivid images were no more than a wicked result of a nightmare.

“Sorry for disturbing you. We’ve just arrived in Hosnian Prime, the captain is yelling at everyone to get _ the fuck  _ out and you slept through it. It was kind of amusing, really,” a kind but harsh voice spoke to her, but she was so stuck in her own dimension she barely noticed them.

She grimaced, the realization that Luke Skywalker might not know what his father became unexpectedly striking her. Well—that wouldn’t be a good conversation to start their relationship with, she ought to leave that revelation for later on. Or not, for it would completely break whatever trust that had been built between them, if he came to understand she deliberately hid some vital information from him.  _ Kriff,  _ what a mess of a situation Anakin had put her into.

If he weren’t already dead, she would like to put a blaster through his chest.

The memory of her finding out about Vader’s existence haunted her — that knowledge had afflicted her more than the news of Anakin dying. And that knowledge might just destroy the naïveté and lighthearted spirit she pictured that hologram image to have, if it hadn’t already been destroyed. Then again, there weren’t many people who knew about hers and Anakin’s affair to  _ tell  _ him, and none of those survived to tell the tale.

Unless, of course, Vader himself was responsible for telling him the truth. She doubted it, though; if she had been made believe for twenty-three years that her child never lived to see the sunrise, then so would Anakin.

Understanding there was no point stressing herself over those matters beforehand, she locked them away in the back of her mind. She lowered her hand to find the small holocube in her pocket, it being the only link between estranged blood, only to realize it was no longer there.

Padmé always prided herself on being able to remain calm amidst the worst-case scenarios. At that moment, however, she panicked.

“No, no, no, no…” she mumbled desperately under her breath, patting all over the sides of her clothing and the surface of the seat under her hoping to find it. The most logical explanation was that it had fallen from her somewhere during the flight — probably when they had come out of hyperspace — but she could only think that someone had gone through her belongings while she dozed off and stole it, to use it as blackmail against her powerful figure.

“Hey? What happened?” the same alien from before tried to initiate contact, now a little taken aback to see her dropped to the floor and looking all over for something. They were kind enough to lower themselves down. “Let me help you.”

“A holocube. I lost my holocube. I need to find it,” she spoke so fast and out of breath she couldn’t be certain if the stranger had heard, neither did she direct her panicked eyes from the ground to them.

“A holocube. Okay, let’s see—there it is!” they exclaimed, reaching under the opposite cushion and retrieving it. They held it out to her.

Padmé was so quick to grab it from their hold she only noticed how rude she had been, and her cheeks instantaneously flushed. She closed her fist around the tiny cube and straightened her back, at last starting eye contact with them. “I—I’m sorry. This is the only picture I have of my son. The mere idea of losing it…”

Which she then realized was stupid, because she had gotten it from the holovision, therefore she could easily get herself another copy of it. But she was so desperate for any connection between them that she was starting to act  _ irrationally. _

“It’s alright,” they weren’t too bothered by it, instead standing up and holding out their hand for her. She awkwardly accepted it. “We all carry little trinkets with us to remind us of all those who we have lost.”

Padmé put away the holocube inside her bag, intending to be more careful with it in the foreseen future to avoid any other tumults. She embraced the opportunity to study the face of her aide and learned they were a Twi’lek, whose pale aqua skin was so serene it brought peace to any inner conflict she was having. What caught Padmé’s attention the most, however, was the innate fight in her eyes.

“And who did you lose?” Padmé asked, her curiosity peaked. She grimaced right after, realizing how uncomfortable she might have made her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“My sister,” she replied. She spoke with a hard reverence because thinking of her sister only brought her  _ good  _ memories. “She was unfairly executed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She brushed it off, instead offering to help Padmé with her luggage rather than giving in to mourning, and not giving her the chance of saying  _ no  _ before grabbing them. “I’m Ameera.”

Ameera didn’t wait for introductions as she sped out, still carrying Padmé’s things. Which just turned to be a good thing, as Padmé was about to say her own name to the Twi’lek’s back when she paused—who  _ was  _ she, anyway? Now that the Empire was falling into pieces, now that the people who threatened her very existence were  _ dead _ , who would she become? Should Padmé stay safely hidden in history or should she rise from the ashes and thrive again?

She thought of her son, and how she would like him to remember her. And that was enough of an answer.

“I’m Padmé,” she said hoarsely, catching up to Ameera already outside of the ship. The name felt funny on her tongue,  _ she  _ felt odd saying it. And, then, it brought her comfort. 

Like coming home.

“Alright, Padmé. Where to, now?”

She rose one of her eyebrows high, before understanding it silently. The Empire wasn’t friendly to non-human species, treating them as subjects or threats, that included the use of lethal force even in the slightest of misunderstandings. Ameera had most likely been conditioned to a life of always deferring to humans, and she made every effort of showing it. Considering that her sister’s life had been terminated by the Empire’s hand, she was unlikely a sympathizer. And that made her an  _ ally _ . Padmé felt the obligation to relieve her, “You’re not my servant.”

Once again, the alien girl shrugged. “Might as well help you while I wait for my ride.”

She carried on walking, regardless if she hadn’t been told which direction, forcing Padmé to hurry up and follow her. “But you know that you don’t  _ have  _ to, right?”

Ameera gave her a dirty look over her shoulder. “I’m not daft—gee, what was the last time you had a conversation with  _ anyone _ ?”

It had been a while, truth be told, that she had talked to anyone that wasn’t Safira or Taro. The realization made her feel weird — she hadn’t thought about how long it had been since the last time she stepped into the  _ universe _ . It felt weird, especially when her old life consisted of traveling across the stars and talking to people several moons before.

Rather than confronting  _ that,  _ she decided to ignore the remark. “I need to find transportation for Endor. As soon as possible.”

Ameera suddenly stopped walking, giving Padmé the chance to stand by her side. She tilted her head, allowing her a suspicious glare. “Endor, huh?! You have business there?”

Padmé’s face, however, remained free of any tell. “Something like that.”

That look of mistrust stayed a few more seconds, before turning lenient again. “Alright. To Endor we go, then.”

* * *

They soon found the operating officer selling space travel tickets, and he wasn't as charming as Ameera. He wore his Imperial uniform proudly, regardless of how low ranking it was. The moment the two women approached him, his disgusted glare towards the Twi'lek was natural — it was a good thing, it seemed, that she had been carrying Padmé’s luggage, therefore passing as a human’s servant.

It was early morning in Hosnian Prime, so most of the public shuttle traveling to any and all destinations in the known galaxy had yet to depart. Yet, luck wasn’t on her side.

“There are no flights to Endor, ma’am.”

“ _ What _ ?” Padmé all but spat at him. From every possible obstacle previously walked through in her mind, the impossibility of travel had  _ not  _ been one of them. “That’s insane.  _ Of course  _ there’s at least one shuttle traveling to Endor.”

If people didn’t know better, she would have sounded as a Jedi trying to pull a mind trick on those with weak minds.

“Ma’am, Endor is a restricted area. There are no commercial flights to Endor,” he was trained to remain calm, but, most days, he mostly ignored his training. “Besides, thanks to that  _ rebel scum,  _ it’s too dangerous to go there, given the battle station fallout.”

“Ba—battle station fallout?” the words were stuck in her throat, and her hand grabbed the surface that separated her and the officer in attempts of stabilizing her balance. “What do you mean?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the shift in his humor from annoyance to anger was remarkable; Ameera unconsciously took one step back. “Ever since those  _ rebel scums  _ took down the Death Star, the area has been too unstable to safely navigate. Big chunks of the military base are coming apart and falling down to the planet and its moons. If—when—the collision happens, Endor will be as good as gone,” a grim, then, a wicked smirk, “At least we’ll be able to say the second Death Star destroyed at least  _ one  _ planet, huh?”

His malice went past her; she was too caught up on the idea of Luke Skywalker being stuck in Endor for the time being—for  _ eternity _ , with no way out but a prominent death. “What about all the people there?” she asked, purposefully adding, “It was a military base, after all. There were lots of innocent, working men stationed in the ground,” and then, in a voice lower than a whisper, “Including my husband.”

The officer dropped his act in solidarity — any Imperial officer was automatically his comrade, and he felt their losses all too deeply. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. If it’s any consolation, all those rebel criminals that stayed behind will  _ die _ , too.”

His words were a knife to her chest, and—when had her hands started to tremble? She must have unconsciously walked away, because she could not remember demanding her legs to move, as her mind was clouded with thoughts of death, thoughts of grief.

The  _ Force  _ wouldn’t bring her son back to life only to take him from her, would it?

At the sight of the nearest bench, she fell to it, burying her face on her own hands. The tip of her fingers traced circles in her temples, trying to force any pain away from it. She had  _ no right  _ to mourn for a child that she had never known. That grief should be laid aside for all those who truly knew him and loved him.

She hoped he had been loved until his very ending.

There was still the possibility he wasn’t in Endor, that he had flown away from that system before the Death Star started to collapse. That thought was the only thing capable of bringing calm to her spirits, and she let out a long sigh. She shouldn’t bury him before she had any factual proof that he was  _ dead  _ — like she had done before when Ahsoka told her of his death.

Once reaching a state of conformation, she regained her composure, finding Ameera seated next to her — with no composure  _ at all _ . She was making funny faces to pass the time, looking everywhere and nowhere at all. It was the space between them, and the rigidness of the Twi’lek’s muscles that brought Padmé back to her own sayings.

“I don’t have an Imperial husband,” she announced quietly, hoping to cut the sharpness of the tension between them before it was even born.

The comment was enough for her to cease her moues, but not enough to retrieve any full sentence from her rather than a simple: “Good.”

“But you stayed behind,” Padmé noticed, suddenly sharing unconditional respect for the unfamiliar girl next to her. “Even when you  _ thought  _ I did.”

“I’d rather hear your side of the story,” she shrugged,  _ again,  _ before turning to Padmé with serious eyes. “If there’s one thing you should know about me, Padmé, is that I don’t walk away from innocent people that are  _ hurting. _ ”

Padmé acknowledged her with a nod. “You’re nobler than you let yourself appear.”

“Nobility is earned,” she conjectured, leaving Padmé to interpret whether she meant she had earned her nobility later in life, and not by the accident of birth, or if Padmé was the one to attain some sense of nobility from her. “Your story. It seemed to hit close to home.”

Padmé lowered her head once more. She held no qualms over the liability of the Twi'lek anymore; she might have only known her for minutes, but she saw where her loyalties lied — and she didn’t need the  _ Force  _ to tell her as much. “My son, he… He was there, with the rebel fleet. I don’t know much, just that he took part in the attacks against the Death Star. Now, I’m worried… I’m worried that he…”

She couldn’t say it — she  _ refused  _ to say. She chewed on her cheeks to stop the emotions that came attached to her thoughts; even if she had just taken herself over all the possibilities of Luke still being alive, it hit her all over again like a tidal wave. 

She would probably hit rock bottom this time if Ameera hadn’t suddenly risen from her seat and given her shoulder a shove. “Come on.”

Padmé didn’t have the proper time to process her actions; before she could react, Ameera had already thrown the duffel bag over her shoulder and began to walk away. She had no alternative than to swallow her sorrows and hurry up after her. “Wait…! Where are we going?”

Compared to the Twi'lek, she was completely lacking in height, so, even after she had caught up, Padmé had to take twice the effort with her legs to keep at the same pace. Meanwhile, Ameera didn’t even grant her the privilege of eye contact. “Somewhere else.”

Padmé all but rolled her eyes. “That’s enlightening.”

“There are ears everywhere here,” she provided half an explanation. “Now shut up and follow.”

Before she could stop herself, she smiled at her. Had Ameera noticed the kind gesture, she made no point in acknowledging it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at last, we meet Ameera, my OC ! Ameera, in arabic, means _princess_ , and i’ll just let you guys read into that. i hope you’ll love her as much as i do. she will play an important role in this story. 
> 
> psa: i once read an article that after the battle of endor, the death star started to crumble above the planets and eventually killed all the ewoks. that article has scarred me for life, so i thought i should bring it into this story and traumatize you too!
> 
> any feedback here or on twitter (worshipfuiness) is much appreciated :)


	3. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your amazing feedback! Here's a little longer chapter, and I hope you'll enjoy it, as it gives a little background to my OC, Ameera :)

“Your friend,” Padmé threaded carefully, staring at a random point in the ceiling above her, “Doesn’t trust me.”

“My friend,” Ameera used the same tone as she, although adding a grant of mockery to it, “Is in the  _ rebellion.  _ His  _ job  _ is not to trust anybody.”

“Still,” Padmé remained unconvinced, “He could have at least  _ pretended  _ to.”

Ameera merely scoffed, unbothered — as she seemed to be with most things. She was young, Padmé would guess almost thirty years younger than her, yet she appeared to have lived  _ so much  _ that she wasn’t the one to be distressed with frivolous things. It was admirable, but Padmé wondered when was the last time Ameera had allowed herself to feel  _ anything.  _

After having learned the news about Endor, Ameera and Padmé left the public hangar and went to the Hanging Gardens in the outskirts of Hosnian Prime’s biggest and busiest city. The first thing the retired senator noticed about the place was how  _ public  _ it was, crowded with people from all over the galaxy, of every species, and the Twi’lek chose a very visible spot in a bench amidst a yard of Arallutes — a garden most visited, as it exhibited the trumpet-shaped native flowers of Alderaan. Ever since the world’s destruction, few places in the galaxy still cultivated the plants, and they became rarer and more expensive each passing day. 

Padmé was no fool — something was happening at that precise moment, something  _ big,  _ and Ameera was making sure they weren’t held accountable for it.

She wasn’t tense; in fact, far from it. She seemed relaxed and carefree, bathing her blue skin in the glory of the early rays of sunlight. Still, whenever Padmé tried to start a new conversation, she was met with complete silence or simple words answers, until she decided to drop it and enjoy the sweet scent of the Arallutes flowers from afar.

Entire hours later, when Ameera checked the time for the first time, she abruptly stood up, picked up Padmé’s duffel bag, and started walking away without any fuss. Padmé had been so lost amidst her thoughts that she only noticed she had been left alone when the tall Twi’lek emerged in her vision field and slowly became small. She immediately jumped on her feet and went after her, trying to come off as natural and unpanicked.

Ameera entered a thick conglomerate of trees, in the far, deserted corner of the public gardens — and Padmé wasn’t sure they were even  _ allowed  _ to go there. Nonetheless, she followed her, and the sun quickly disappeared, safe from a few rays breaking through the crown of the forest. She hurried up her steps; that was the last place she’d like to get lost in, and Ameera didn’t do as much as glancing behind.

They seemed to be walking for ages when the woods finally opened in a clean field again. The most out of the place thing, however, was the midsize starship lodged there — the ship to which Ameera started running towards, leaving Padmé with no other choice but to follow behind, under the risk of being left behind.

And the ramp began to close as soon as Ameera — and a very out of breath Padmé — reached it.

“What  _ took  _ you so long?!” a grumpy voice came from the depths of the ship, at the same time that the engines started running and the ground beneath them, shaking. “We could have got  _ caught _ .”

“But we didn’t,” Ameera replied in that same monotonous tone she used for nearly everything, one that never dared to dwell in things that  _ didn’t  _ happen. “Shut up and get us out of here, flyboy.”

Her order was met with a series of grumbles, those in a foreign language that Padmé couldn’t understand. She wouldn’t be the one to start asking questions about where they were going, considering that she was the  _ uninvited guest _ , so she leaned against the wall and made herself small, waiting for someone else to notice her presence — as Ameera seemed to have all but forgotten about her existence.

That didn’t take long, for the captain came to meet them as soon as they had made it into hyperspace. The fury in his eyes was something she wasn’t ought to forget so soon.

“ _ And who the hell are you?!  _ Ameera!”

Ameera merely raised her eyes from the seat she had claimed and made a face, “Oh,  _ that _ .”

“Yes,  _ that _ . What the hell are you thinking?” the short man yelled from the top of his lungs, leaving Padmé unsure whether to say something or to wait for him to calm his nerves. Which turned out to be an unlikely scenario, as he accusingly pointed his finger at her, “You know out?  _ Never mind  _ who you are. We’re throwing you out.”

Ameera chuckled sarcastically, going back to twiddling with some random object that had found its way to her hands. “Yes, Max. Go ahead and throw the nice old lady into hyperspace.  _ Surely  _ no one will notice.”

He was clearly torn between shooting the Twi’lek death glares and leaving his eyes on the human, in case she tried something. “This isn’t  _ funny,  _ ‘Meera! You have no idea who this woman is! She could be an Imperial spy! She could be here to murder all of us!”

“I, huh, am not an Imperial spy,” Padmé thought it wise to interfere at last.

Max gave her an uncivil glare. “Yes, because spies surely don’t deny being spies.”

He was startled when he felt a smack to the back of his head, turning around to see Ameera standing behind him, almost twice his height. “She’s not a  _ spy. _ ”

“I don’t  _ trust  _ her.”

“You don’t even trust me.”

“Precisely!” he spoke, matter-of-factly. “And yet you thought it was a good idea to bring her aboard?! What the hell to plan to do with her, anyway?”

“Bring her to the rebellion,” Ameera replied coldly, hidden between the lines a tone that said,  _ what else am I going to do with her? _

In turn, the perplexed look that took over his eyes was so evident that, under any other circumstance, it would have brought Padmé laughter. His voice suddenly descended from shouting to whispering and it was borderline  _ hilarious _ , “You know better than to just throw that word around in front of strange people!”

“What word? Oh, you mean, the  _ rebellion _ ?” her mockery never ended. She seemed like the kind of person to have little regard for her own life, let alone for anybody else’s. “Don’t be so daft, Max — if that’s even  _ possible.  _ If we don’t ever  _ throw  _ that word around, how else are people going to join us?!”

He squinted his eyes, analyzing her point, and conceding to it. “ _ Fine.  _ But she’s  _ your  _ responsibility. If she ends up blowing up the ship and these supplies don’t make it to the base,  _ you’ll  _ be the one explaining it to the supreme leader!”

Max turned on his heels even before he was done speaking, leaving Ameera no other choice than to shout at him before he locked himself up in his personal cabin for the rest of the trip, “If she blows up the ship? We’re  _ dead _ , I won’t have to explain  _ shit  _ to the supreme leader!”

Although she had been  _ loud,  _ there wasn’t an ounce of flushing from her part when she looked down to face her new friend — unlike  _ Padmé,  _ who felt like she had been caught up in a very peculiar situation and only managed to say, “Nice fellow.”

“No, he isn’t,” Ameera frowned at that insinuation, even if it had been founded on sarcasm. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before he finds us again.”

Which led them both to settle in Ameera’s own cabin, as small and suitable for one person only as it was. Save for the closet in the far wall, it was empty, so she picked up two sleeping sacks from there and threw them to the ground, side to side. She didn’t invite Padmé in before claiming one and lying flat on her back.

Padmé swallowed in any awkwardness she might have felt before lying down as well. For several moments, they were so silent the only noise that could be heard was one of the machinery hummings. Padmé even assumed Ameera had fallen asleep but was proved wrong when she peeked to her side and saw her eyes open. That was when she traced her vision to the ceiling and ventured to state the obvious, “Your friend doesn’t trust me.”

Their conversation went on, and Ameera ruthless snapped at her, “You’re not used to people not  _ liking  _ you, are you?!”

She grimaced at the accusation; that wasn’t  _ exactly  _ true, as much as she wasn’t used to people not faithfully trusting her and following her lead. Years of being a beacon for peace and justice — and, overall, just on the right side of history — made it  _ harder  _ for her to understand these people had no reason to trust her.

Yet, Ameera did.

“Well,” her voice took an unexpected higher-pitched tone, “I’m a very likable person, I’ll have you know.”

The scorn that escaped Ameera’s throat impersonating a laugh was peak comedy. “Says  _ you _ .”

Padmé fussed her brows together, “Says the person who brought me aboard.”

Ameera wrinkled her nose at the turn of the narrative but reluctantly caved in.

Her lack of a sharp response was enough for Padmé to turn serious and direct her stare to her side profile. “Why did you bring me aboard, Ameera?”

Ameera brought her hands from her sides to her chest — an action Padmé had yet to learn if done deliberately or not. She wished the Twi’lek’s lekku weren’t so big and remarkable and hid most of Ameera’s face away; otherwise, she would at least be able to try and read her trail of emotions.

Then, she grabbed hold of a small pendant that was hanging from her neck. It was so small and delicate that Padmé hadn’t even noticed it before; or, perhaps, Ameera had been purposefully hiding the token under the collar of her shirt. She assumed it meant something personal to her, and that it would be the gateway to the revelation of the reasons behind her actions. 

Instead, what she said was completely unrelated, “I have no idea why.”

“Don’t you?” Padmé insisted, bringing her arm under her arm and resting her head on the palm of her hand, giving her some sort of leverage. “As callous as you try to act, I don’t think you’re impetuous at all.”

“You don’t know me,” her comment would be usually followed by a scoff — at that moment, it wasn’t. “At  _ all _ .”

“You’re right, I don’t,” she offered a small nod in acknowledgment. “But I’m trying to. I’d  _ like  _ to.”

Abruptly, and startling the brunette as she went, Ameera moved to a sitting position and  _ spat,  _ “What’s the point, Padmé? No, really, tell me, because I’d  _ love  _ to know what’s the point of  _ anything.  _ We’re all in this stupid, hopeless quest to save the galaxy from oppression, and we’re all in this to  _ die.  _ Why would anyone even  _ bother  _ to get acquainted if tomorrow we’re just going to die fighting this unbeatable foe?!”

After several hours together, Padmé was finally catching glimpses of Ameera’s true identity — and she was starting to understand how much anger there was underneath. “If you don’t believe in the rebellion, then why are you  _ here _ ?”

Ameera simply shook her head, bringing her legs close to her chest and all but hugging them.

Padmé saw it convenient to sit up as well. “You can talk to me. I know we’ve just  _ met,  _ but it doesn’t matter. If you’ve trusted me enough to bring me here, you can trust me with whatever is bothering you. I won’t judge you, I’ll just… listen.”

Ameera shot her fiery eyes, that risked burning anything that stood between them. “Didn’t you hear  _ anything  _ I’ve just said, Padmé?”

She’d probably meant to sound threatening, but it turned out that Padmé wasn’t so easily scared. “From what I  _ heard,  _ I think you’re just in need of a friend.”

Her glare didn’t change, but she smirked, “I think you’re a  _ terrible  _ listener.”

Padmé’s lips curved up — Ameera had gone from bitterness to bickering, and that was a start. The human knew exactly how to push her even further: she pulled out a japor snippet carved by a child from under her own blouse and presented it in the air. “From one lost soul to another.”

Ameera’s eyes fell to the pendant, clearly intrigued with it. She brought her fingers close to it, like a Force sensitive person trying to feel the tiny adornment, but didn’t touch it, out of respect. Closing her fist, she settled back. “It’s not a good story.”

Padmé let go of it, and, for the first time in  _ ages,  _ she didn’t hide it again. “I think there are few good stories left to tell.”

Ameera considered Padmé’s affirmation, and took it as accurate, before anchoring her back against the metal wall. She crossed her long legs in front of her and showed a more relaxed form of herself that she had allowed few to see. Her mind struggled to retrieve all her memories from the locked chest she had them it — and it  _ hurt _ , but she daren’t deviate her eyes from Padmé’s. If she wanted to know her story, then she was going to witness all the pain that it brought her as well. “It belonged to my sister.”

Padmé smiled sadly; she had figured as much, from the way Ameera had mentioned her earlier in their little adventure. “The sister who was terminated by Imperials.”

“It’s not that simple,” she denounced and then scoffed at herself. “ _ Heck— _ I don’t think anything has been simple anywhere in the galaxy for a  _ long  _ time. Not under the Emperor’s regime. And if anyone has had simple lives, it’s because they chose to sacrifice themselves. They chose to turn a blind eye to tyranny and allow everybody else to pay the price for  _ their  _ selfishness.”

“How old are you?” she asked, only then realizing she had sharply cut into Ameera’s tired raving; she grimaced. “I ask because you’re young, but your eyes try to emanate that you  _ do  _ know what it was like before Palpatine took over.”

“I was born before that monster became emperor,” she said with a nod, “But not old enough to remember anything from those times. Duaa remembered, though. She grew up during the last days of the Republic, and it gave her a sense of liberty that she could only dream for me.”

“Don’t you believe we’re one step closer to achieving that dream?” Padmé prompted. “With these recent events?!”

“The Empire is like a Hydra,” she shrugged, “When you cut off one head, two more grow back in its place.”

“Maybe, but—”

“Look what happened with the destruction of the first Death Star,” Ameera didn’t give her the chance to speak. “We were all  _ so hopeful _ . It gave us a new sense of horizon, a sense that we all had to  _ fight  _ too, so we’d be helping build a path to freedom, and look where it got us—a second Death Star, even bigger than the one before.”

“A Death Star that was  _ destroyed _ —”

“It doesn’t matter if it was destroyed or not!” this time, she yelled. “It doesn’t matter, because it’s just a matter of time until someone builds a  _ new  _ one. They don’t need Palpatine, or Vader, or whatever other public figures. They already know  _ how _ .”

Her voice ended on a low murmur; a flux of emotions going through her. She continued, “It doesn’t matter, because more people will loom in,  _ inspired  _ by the actions of others against the great powers of evil. And more people… will die.”

The most heartbreaking aspect of her point of view wasn’t the loss of hope, but her refusal to break the eye contact — something that would be the first thing to do by most people. She amazed Padmé.

“Is that how you lost your sister?” she dared to ask, regardless of how brutal it felt. “Because you were inspired to dream an  _ impossible  _ dream after Yavin, and you paid a high price for it.”

“It was more of a domino effect, but, yeah,” Ameera said with a pout on her lips. “Duaa joined the cause because all she wanted was for me to know what the time of her childhood had been like. I joined because—well, I’d do anything that my sister did.  _ She  _ was the one with a dream, not me.  _ I  _ was the one supposed to die, not her.”

“Duaa was your  _ sister _ ,” Padmé stated the obvious. “And your big sister, above all. She would  _ always  _ protect you. She wouldn’t think her life was worth more than yours. And she wouldn’t want you to stop living, too.”

“ _ Fuck  _ what Duaa thinks. She’s  _ dead,  _ it doesn’t matter what she once thought — or that she could think at all!” Ameera gestured with her hands, making use of the space around her. “No, tell me, Padmé, how would you feel if your son gave his life for you.  _ Tell me _ .”

“The bonds between a child and their parents are different from the bonds between siblings,” she remained diplomatically calm. “ _ And  _ — we’re talking about you, not me.”

“You’re a hypocrite, did you know that?! Forcing something personal out of me when I don’t know  _ shit  _ about who you are,” Ameera angrily accused, hoping to get at least a  _ flinch  _ on Padmé’s face — and she flushed noticeably at her failure. “I’m sorry. That isn’t true.”

Padmé simply waved it away. “Ameera, I know my fair share of  _ grief.  _ And something tells me that this is the first time you’re putting into words all your feelings concerning your sister’s death. You can throw everything you have at me, I won’t be offended.”

“No offense to  _ you,  _ but you wouldn’t be able to bear all the emotion inside of me,” she said. “There’s just too much. The only reason I’m not  _ drowning  _ is that I know myself enough to swim through it.”

“Do  _ you _ ?” she provoked, “There’s a difference between blocking your emotions and  _ feeling  _ them.”

“Okay, well, maybe I did block them,” Ameera shuddered, “But only because feeling  _ hurts  _ — and I’ve already got the pain of her absence to deal with.”

“That pain in here will never cease to exist, ‘Meera,” she pointed to her heart, and then to her head, “But it’s only through  _ here  _ that you can start to get better.”

“Getting better is accepting she's gone,” she elaborated in a firm voice, “I don’t ever want to do that. I  _ refuse  _ to.”

“You  _ have  _ to accept she’s died,” Padmé leaned forward slightly. “ _ Denying _ it, or trying to  _ bargain  _ with the universe, are unhealthy coping mechanisms. You’ll believe you’re doing fine until something triggers you and you’ll spiral down so abruptly you won’t even see the fall. She died, you can’t change that. She  _ died,  _ you couldn’t control that. You loved, and you lost. It’s time to put your sorrows to bed.”

“Don’t you get it? It’s not easy,” she prompted, and Padmé was about to say that she  _ did  _ get it, but Ameera started talking beforehand, “It’s not easy, because she  _ died  _ for me.”

Padmé compressed her lips in a thin line; as a former Queen of Naboo, who had once relied her entire safety on her decoys, she understood exactly how unbearable it was to hold the guilt of someone’s death over her head. Every now and then, she would still think of Cordé, and how she had selflessly sacrificed herself, and she would send a prayer to the heavens, asking for forgiveness. “You blame yourself.”

Ameera scoffed. “Blame myself?! Don’t be daft, Padmé, I’m very aware that there was nothing I could have done at that moment. I blame  _ her _ , for being  _ stupid  _ and reckless and so altruist to get herself killed.  _ For me _ …! I’m just so angry at her, and it’s not fair, because she isn’t around anymore to know all this rage I feel inside of me.”

Padmé remained silent, waiting for her to either lash out or break down.

She did neither; instead, she clasped her hands together and calmed her breathing. “We were pulling an attack on Kashyyyk, things went wrong. We were there to try to take down the government, therefore freeing the Wookies from years and years of slavery. It was a high-risk operation, but we felt so  _ confident,  _ because it felt  _ right _ , that it had to work out, right?!”

“It didn’t,” Padmé said, with the only intention of allowing her a break to sort her emotions.

“It didn’t,” Ameera repeated, appreciating the short pause she had been allowed. “Although most of our ground team managed to escape, including Duaa, I was caught and taken to the governor. Grand Moff Tolruck. As I’m sure you can imagine, he wasn’t very pleased to deal with us, rebel scum. I was brought in to him by stormtroopers and thrown down to his feet like a disposable object — I was  _ certain  _ he would pull out his blaster and kill me himself. And I  _ wish he had _ .”

“No, you don’t,” Padmé interfered with a low tone.

“Oh, but I do,” she guaranteed, “I do, because had he killed me, it would have caused me so much  _ less  _ pain. And I’m not talking about losing Duaa here, I’m talking about being turned into his personal  _ slave _ ,” she spat the last word out, “His little girl, always chained to him, always there for exhibition, like a caged animal. He didn’t only do it to set a precedent not to get in his way. He did it because I’m not  _ human,  _ and, under his eyes, I deserved to  _ be  _ treated like a caged animal. So when I say that I wish he had killed me, I  _ mean  _ it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her words fell on deaf ears, as they had ought to. “He sent a message to the rebellion, claiming his new  _ prize,  _ telling them to back off, or many more would suffer fates even worse than mine. Of course, my  _ stupid  _ sister had to see it and come to rescue me.

“And I was doing fine, you know?!” for the first time, her voice faltered. “I’m not saying that it wasn’t  _ bad,  _ or that I don’t have nightmares powerful enough to keep me sleepless for days, or that the scars on my back from every time he lost his temper and lashed out at me don’t take away bits of my confidence, but I was doing  _ fine  _ — I had settled with whom I had become. I had grieved who I had been _ ,  _ and what I had lost. I was content enough just to still be alive, under the false hopes that, one day, a better galaxy would come, and I’d be free again. I was  _ fine _ ; Duaa had no right to give up her life for a cause that I had already succumbed to.”

“Ameera, you’re not going to achieve a peace of spirit until you understand one thing,  _ one  _ thing only,” her eyes pledged for the Twi’lek, for once, to hear to anyone that wasn’t herself. “Duaa would come for you no matter what, no matter the circumstances. Leaving you behind, to suffer, was never an option to her.”

“What makes you so sure that I  _ want  _ peace of spirit?! No, I deserve this. I deserve all this agony, because I  _ lived,  _ and she didn’t,” remarkably, she didn’t show any pity towards herself. “And I’m all alone. I’m all alone because Duaa was all I had. Our parents died in a mining  _ accident  _ before the first decade of the Empire had passed by — I was barely a teenager, and Duaa, although older than the legal age, was still so naïve in mind. And it forced her to grow up, to become mature and responsible, to look after  _ me.  _ When I think of home, I can only think of her.”

“You speak as if that was a bad thing,” she pointed out, “And it isn’t.  _ Remembering  _ is an essential part of being alive and an even more important part of keeping the  _ dead  _ alive. When you think of Duaa, when you speak of Duaa, you’re honoring her life and everything that she was to you, to everyone who knew and cared for her. Don’t let the memories of pain overthrow the memories of love. You owe her that much.”

“I owe her so much more than that. I owe her  _ my life _ !” she was fuming by the end of her sentence — and then, she wasn’t. “The rescue operation was a mess. I don’t think she got the clearance for the mission, nor the backup necessarily to break into a governor’s mansion, filled with stormtroopers on the stand by, just  _ waiting  _ for any excuse to shoot and ease their boredom. Grand Moff Tolruck immediately saw the attack as what it was, so he had me locked up in the soundproof basement, intending to kill everyone before they had the chance to get to me.

“It was so dark there,” her voice started to disappear, “Dark and cold and dirty, but the darkness bothered me the most. If Duaa did manage to get past all the guards to find the basement, she wouldn’t _ see  _ me, and it’d all be for nothing,” she wanted to add that she still wasn’t able to sleep in a completely dark room, but she was prouder than that. “I started to panic, and my panic led me to desperately try to find some way out of there. Did I mention how dark it was? I couldn’t see my palm in front of my face, I couldn’t see that damn  _ rock  _ or whatever on the floor before I tripped on it. I fell, and I did not have the strength to get back up again.

“I was ready to stay the rest of my days there, hopeless and starving and filthy,” and then, her voice gained back its strength. “But you haven’t met Duaa — she’s stubborn as one can be.”

Padmé simply smiled at the notion that, for the first time, Ameera had referred to her sister in the present tense.

“Time stopped there. To me, days had passed by when that locked door finally opened again, and I was  _ sure  _ Grand Moff Tolruck had come back to terminate me. The idea, for the first time, came to me as a relief. Instead, a flash of light was pointed at me — it hurt my eyes, so I couldn’t see who was approaching, but when they reached me… when I smelt them and felt their soft hands touching me, I instantaneously knew that  _ home  _ had come to me. It was the happiest I had ever been, that I will  _ ever  _ be.”

Padmé chewed on her inner cheeks, knowing damn well how desperation felt. She, too, for the longest of times,  _ forbid  _ herself from ever being happy, or even having moments of pure happiness. She had been wrong for treating herself that badly, but that was a realization that Ameera had to make on her own.

“There was no time to talk,” she continued. “She gave me a tight hug, and a kiss in my cheek, and then she freed my arms from the chains and helped up, taking me by the hand. She led the way, not uttering a sound, and she was  _ so sure  _ we would make it. So sure, that it’s heartbreaking that she didn’t.

“We met with a few of the remaining rebel agents, and we all made it outside the house, just a few miles away from where the ship was hidden. The universe, for  _ once _ , seemed to be on our side — but it was all some sort of twisted cosmic joke.

“A bunch of stormtroopers spotted us running across the gardens. It was twilight, so it wasn’t easy to hit us but it wasn’t impossible, either. Duaa let go of my hand and yelled loudly,  _ run!,  _ and that was the last word I heard her say. It still haunts my dreams.”

Not sure of what else to do, Padmé leaned forward and wrapped both her hands around one of the Twi’lek’s. She didn’t seem to mind, but neither did she acknowledge the gesture.

“After years of being conditioned to doing everything that Duaa told me to do, I began running. Thinking back, knowing how undernourished I was, I have  _ no  _ idea how I managed to run that fast — but I did, because I was a good sister and I always obeyed her. I didn’t even look back, knowing in my  _ core  _ that Duaa was just behind me, making sure I got safely to the ship.

“I think they assumed Duaa was me, because only  _ one  _ blast echoed in the air. And it hit her. I ducked at the sudden sound of the shot, followed by a muff of pain and a body falling to the ground. When I turned back, her lifeless form was all that I could see. I screamed.”

For the first time, Ameera’s eyes glimpsed with tears. However, she was as stubborn as her sister had been, and didn’t allow a single one of them to trace her cheeks.

“I tripped and fell over her body,  _ begging  _ for her to come back to me. She didn’t even open her eyes. They called for me, demanding that I stopped risking everybody else’s lives over someone’s  _ dead  _ body and get moving again, but I could never just leave her there. I could never leave  _ her _ , just like she couldn’t leave me to Tolruck. Max came for me—Max, of all people!—and tried to  _ drag  _ me, but it seemed that my weakness had finally caught up to me, and I couldn’t move. Didn’t want to. He mercilessly picked me up and threw me over his shoulder, regardless of how much I shouted, and spasmed, and demanded he left me behind and took me to the ship. I watched as her dead body grew small on the horizon until it disappeared, and then, I never looked back. Being back on that rebel ship without her… I never felt so lonely.”

“You were all alone,” somewhere during her narrative, Padmé had sat by her shoulder, although it was unsure whether she was giving herself or Ameera a break from looking at each other’s eyes.

“Yes. Well, no, not a first,” she rambled on. “I was taken to the medical bay and I  _ know  _ that someone sat there with me, the entire time, but I was so numb I could barely register their presence. A figure in white, an ethereal being, that’s all I remember, who never talked to me, never touched me, never disturbed me. They just sat there by my side, making sure I wasn’t  _ alone,  _ and the silence flew between us. They came to me as a comfort, and they were gone too fast.”

To her, Ahsoka had been her angel in white. A familiar face that provided her all the comfort she needed, but that eventually moved on, considering it was not  _ her  _ loss to be dealt with. And that complete absence of love was  _ maddening.  _ “You were all alone.”

“I’m all alone,” she remarked with a whisper, at last turning her face sideways to face the human with half a smirk, “All right. Beat it.”

“Beat—what?!”

“My story,” she was so straightforward after all her display of emotions that it seemed that she had faked it all. “Tell me yours, and try to beat it.”

Padmé looked at her funnily. “It’s not a competition.”

“Maybe not,” she shrugged, “But I could use the distraction.”

She had chosen her words precisely — even though she only knew the brunette for a few hours, it was clear that she would do anything to the benefit of others, even if it included sharing all her pains. And Padmé saw right through the game she was playing.

Naturally, she tried to deflect it. “What were you doing in Raada?”

“Raada?” she frowned, trying to match a place to the name. “Oh. I went to retrieve this.”

At last, Ameera allowed her full view of the necklace she had been hiding under her shirt. It was small, the perfect size to garnish between collar bones. It looked like a glass marble, probably made for a child, but it was fragile, with crystal clear glass adorning the white tulip it held inside. The flower had been so perfectly carved it almost looked real.

“It’s beautiful.”

She hummed. “When our parents died, we wanted to give them a quiet place to rest; somewhere they wouldn’t be troubled any more by the imperials. We buried them in Raada, and I — I didn’t want to leave them. I was a child, I was scared that my parents would forget  _ me _ if we left. So Duaa suggested we both left something of ours behind; little tokens that we loved, so we would always be with them. I left my favorite toy— my  _ only  _ toy —and Duaa left her childhood pendant that she always wore. We both knew it was time to grow up.”

Then, a sardonic laugh escaped her lips. “I stole this from my parents. It’s all right, I guess. They know I need it more than them.”

Ameera glanced one last time at the pendant, before locking it away against her chest again. Still looking down, she prompted, “What were  _ you  _ doing in Raada? And don’t try to deviate from me again.”

It was such an authoritative demand that Padmé understood she was done talking. And she was right—the senator owed her at least  _ some  _ answer. “I was… hiding.”

“Hiding?” Ameera said the word funnily. “You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who just  _ hides  _ away.”

“I’m not—well, I wasn’t,” she argued. “But I had no other choice.”

She sensed she wouldn’t get any more background than that, so she tried a different path. “Okay, what about your son?!”

Padmé grimaced. Delving into what had brought her to Luke — or, more precisely, had brought Luke to  _ her  _ — would mean opening to a lot of precedents that she wasn’t sure she was ready to divulge. Then again, she had been keeping all her secrets to herself for  _ so long  _ that she feared they would soon explode her mind.

However, she did not know the Twi’lek. Even if Ameera had talked about all her suffering, all her most sincere pain, it was different, because Ameera didn’t once make part of the family that caused the current state of the galaxy.

In fact, if Ameera came to the knowledge that she had been married to Anakin Skywalker, who had pledged allegiance to Palpatine, then later becoming Darth Vader and helping create and stabilize the Empire, and, therefore, giving power to Truck to enslave Ameera and cause Duaa’s death — the aftermath would be catastrophic. 

Padmé didn’t even want to imagine the hurt Ameera would endure, or how used and deceived she would feel. If she didn’t want to imagine that scenario, then why did she suddenly find herself pouring her heart out to the blue-skinned girl?

“My son doesn’t know who I am,” she spoke quietly, full of regrets and full of  _ shame _ . “In reality, my son doesn’t know I exist.”

“That’s fucked up,” Ameera stated, her eyes large with the revelation. “What do you even intend to do, just go up to him and say, ‘Hey there, I’m your mummy, nice to meet you. Sorry for being absent for the past thirty years, by the way. Hope that didn’t give you any mummy issues!’”

“I—I don’t know what I’m going to do when I find him,” she mostly ignored Ameera’s  _ drastic  _ impersonation of her. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh, I can see that.”

Padmé rolled her eyes. “It’s  _ complicated  _ because he was taken from me just after he was born, and I was told he had died. I didn’t even know he was alive until three days ago.”

“Three days, and you’re already chasing him around the galaxy? Charming,” she amused. “How do you even know he’s  _ your  _ son? If you were deceived back then, you could be being deceived again.”

“Mother’s intuition,” she said simply and heard the scorn that Ameera tried to hold back — and failed miserably. “Please, don’t ask too many questions, okay? I  _ know  _ it’s him, that’s all the confirmation you need.”

“All right, all right,” she threw her hands in the arm in redemption. “Can I at least ask his name? I’ve been with the rebellion for a long time now. Maybe I know him.”

For the longest time, Padmé blankly stared at the grey wall. She had never spoken his name aloud, and she was  _ terrified  _ of the consequences of finally doing so. If he had inherited too much from his father, it could lead to the ultimate destruction of the galaxy; but, if he was just like his mother, then the galaxy would be allowed to sleep at ease for the foreseen future.

Either way, there was too much at risk. But her heart seemed to be talking over her brain, as she admitted, “Luke Skywalker.”

There was a prolonged, intense silence in the room, and then, Ameera was unable to control herself any further. She started laughing so strongly that she nearly choked on her own breath, and she almost cried of laughter.

Padmé glared at her, unsure of how to proceed, but certain that interrupting her during her moments of amusement wouldn’t do any good. She waited until Ameera finally calmed herself enough to say, “You’re good, I’ll give you that. You almost had me for a minute.”

After the disclosure, she had discarded everything she had been told as some sick ploy for the human to deviate from her own sorrows. She felt a little bit used, considering that she had revealed the most difficult story for her to tell, but she had been so amazed by her ability to tell such a tale with conviction that she couldn’t feel bad.

Until she regained her composure and stared back at Padmé, only to find out she was looking at her with dead eyes. Ameera cleared her throat, “You’re… You’re telling the truth?”

Her blank face didn’t budge. “Why would I lie about this?!”

“I don’t know!” Ameera’s eyes were genuinely wide. “Maybe, to spite me? Or because we both could use some laughter?”

“The universe is the one holding all the laughter right now.”

Ameera swallowed hard. “Padmé—you can’t possibly just come at the savior of the worlds and expect him to believe you. He’s  _ famous,  _ half the galaxy might just try and snatch him for themselves.”

“Luke isn’t stupid,” she spoke as if she knew her; but, he was a child of the Force, therefore she highly doubted he was easily deceived. “He’ll know better than to just believe anyone that comes his way.”

She raised one of her eyebrows high, “I hope you realize you’re just proving my point.”

“It’s different,” Padmé argued, “Because I’m his birth  _ mother _ , and he’ll know it.”

“How  _ exactly  _ will he know it?” she provoked, “I understand that you’re  _ sure  _ of it, but, regardless of how certain you are, there’s still every possibility that you’re  _ wrong.  _ And if you are, you might just break both yours and his hearts.”

She breathed in heavily. “I know that. But I also know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Luke Skywalker  _ is  _ my son. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense.”

Still, she remained unsure. “Enlighten me.”

Padmé straightened her back. “Okay. First, he looks  _ just  _ like his father. When I first saw him in the HoloNet, I thought that my husband had been frozen in time and brought back to life in an instant.”

“That’s just speculation, Padmé. Especially if you’ve only seen him  _ through  _ the HoloNet — those blue pixelated figures don’t come  _ close  _ to reality,” at the same time that she wanted to knock some sense into the woman, Ameera was also  _ incredibly  _ curious to see how that story would turn out. 

“Secondly,” she held two of her fingers in the air, “His name. He bears his family name, and… My husband and I, we  _ chose  _ his name. Luke. We fought  _ so many times  _ over it — especially because he only offered girl names when I felt in my  _ bones  _ that it was a boy. But when I threw Luke on the list, he just smiled. For the first time, he listened. Said he had heard that name on a dream, once. Luke Skywalker is my son. Our son.”

Her voice carried the burden of melancholy; Ameera could only smile sadly at it. “It’s a sweet memory. Do you think your husband named him, after his birth?”

“My husband died before the child was born,” she announced, believing it to be  _ true  _ — Anakin Skywalker died so Darth Vader could live. She didn’t register Ameera’s soft apologies. “There was an accident, and… Well, he died,” she chose her words carefully, simultaneously compressing all the bad memories flooding her mind. “I was pretty hurt myself, so I’m assuming the shock of the moment, plus being bombarded with medication, suppressed all my memories of his birth. But I must have named him. It’s the only reasonable explanation.”

“I respect you, Padmé, I really do,” Ameera offered her small words of compassion, “But I think your brain is trying to fill in the holes of your tampered heart. You’re trying to mend yourself, hence why you can’t see how, instead, you’re only prolonging your pain.”

“I hear you, Ameera, and I appreciate your concern, but I’m not wrong,” she insisted, “You’ll see when we get to Coruscant, and I get to see him. And he gets to see  _ me _ . A spark will light up inside of him and he’ll  _ know  _ it.”

“You’re saying that because of his mind power, or whatever,” Ameera made the logical jump, and then, shrugged, “Yes. I’ll guess we’ll wait and see.”

Padmé chuckled soundlessly at her choice of words. “Luke is Force sensitive, yes, like his father before him. I’m surprised that his power isn’t hidden to himself only, though, considering that Palpatine made a fair effort of hiding away all of those sensitive beings.”

“You mean eliminating them,” she’d rather use the correct terminology. “It isn’t exactly  _ known.  _ However, people talk, and I myself have seen him do a few things around the base that logic couldn’t explain, like moving objects and such. So, mind power it is.”

She spoke a lot, but Padmé could only concentrate on one aspect of her sentence. “You… You know him?”

That time, Ameera’s laughter was loud and deliberate. “Of course  _ not.  _ Luke Skywalker is one of the cool kids, therefore he only hangs with the  _ other  _ cool __ kids. I’m a nobody. No big shot in their sane mind would hang with  _ me _ .”

“I think you’re too hard on yourself,” Padmé said softly.

“It doesn’t matter. How I view myself doesn’t change the order of things.”

She sighed. “I hadn’t pictured him like that. So elitist, I mean.”

She shot her shoulders up and down. “He’s not. Not really. But circumstances have made him, so, naturally, people will try to claim his friendship as a prize,” she noticed that Padmé was staring at her so intensely that it was starting to creep her. “ _ Fine.  _ What do you want to know?!”

“Huh,” it was such an easy question, yet she gave herself a pause to place her thoughts thoroughly. “Anything.  _ Everything _ .”

Ameera snorted, turning her back from the wall so she could properly look at the human; Padmé did the same — she was so curious, so intrigued, that her eyes were burning with life. “Okay, but keep in mind that I don’t properly know him. I’ve never even talked to him—I think—so my insight comes strictly from observation and intuition from the times we were lodged on the same base.”

Padmé nodded vigorously. She was so desperate for information, she would grab anything that would come on her way.

“He’s blonde and got those piercing blue eyes. He’s got an average height, not tall, but not small either — you know, the perfect height to reach a high shelf, but not to knock his head on the ceiling of some cramped spaceship.”

He had inherited Anakin’s looks and her height — Padmé smiled to herself, but didn’t interrupt.

“He’s a great pilot, obviously, so he mostly just hangs with the rest of his squadron. Actually, his squadron hangs with him, or tries to. He just spends most of his time chasing the ice princess and a smuggler around. I’d say they’re his only friends.”

Padmé bent her neck in the slightest, frowning, “The ice princess?”

“Yeah, you know, Princess Leia. Her homeworld got blown up and all that shit.”

_ Shit  _ was, in all its power, a euphemism. Padmé felt for the girl, being a sovereign without a realm to rule. “Why do you call her the ice princess?”

“It’s just how she’s known around the fleet,” Ameera didn’t seem much too bothered about it. “Her whole life was gone after Alderaan was blown up, and she remains apathetic. Not even after its immediate destruction, she didn’t spare a single emotion. Almost like… she doesn’t care. Therefore, the ice princess.”

“She’s a public figure,” Padmé emphasized, knowing that she would also act that way if something like that had happened during her reign as Naboo’s appointed monarch. “She’s not allowed to act like a normal person, to show emotions like you and I do.”

“Still, it steals the humanity from her,” Ameera argued, although she wasn’t entirely sure of what she had been arguing  _ for _ .

“Perhaps,” Padmé consented, “But it gives her a sense of control that every leader wishes they had.”

Ameera compressed her lips. “You’re just like him, you know? Luke, I mean. He once heard a bunch of men call her by that nickname, after having been talked down by her, and he was so infuriated he all but made a scene. He’s really protective of her, it’s kinda cute.”

It was unknown to her whether her grin was coming from the anecdote, or from being compared to her son. “He’s loyal to those around him. That’s a good quality.”

“Yeah, and it sets a precedent that anyone who messes with her will have to deal with him,” Ameera added, “And nobody wants to be on bad terms with the guy who blew up the Death Star. Twice.”

“You mentioned a smuggler—who’s that?” Padmé would never say it out loud, but she felt funny at the idea of him hanging around lowlives, because he certainly deserved better than that.

“I don’t know how he comes into the picture,” Ameera confessed. “He was just there. He mostly just ran after the princess and had yelling disputes with her.”

“He  _ yelled  _ at her?!” she was perplexed at so little decorum. “That’s highly disrespectful, considering her position.”

“I’d say he’s not really the type of guy who gets put in his place,” she said, “He’s trustworthy, though. He once risked his life by going into a blizzard on an ice planet because Luke had gotten lost. He’s not exactly bad company, even if he might seem like he is.”

“He saved Luke’s life?” her eyes glowed with the notion — she would fall in debt with anyone who risked their lives for her son.

“I guess,” Ameera wasn’t all too impressed by it. “But Luke is—”

She got interrupted mid-sentence by the sudden sound of Max’s voice over the comm, “ _ We’re about to land in Coruscant. Ladies, buckle in.” _

The realization that she was getting closer and closer to her son made Padmé shiver, and her face lost all its color. She had been so eager to hear about him, and now she had fallen under despair over the prospect of meeting him for the first. It could all go very, very wrong.

In an act of kindness, Ameera reached out and took her hand in hers. In fact, it was the first demonstration of affection that came from her. “Everything will turn to be as it’s meant to be.”

Anxiously, Padmé nodded and counted the seconds in her head until they landed on solid ground and she found herself one step closer to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any feedback here or on twitter (worshipfuiness) is much appreciated :)


	4. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at last, we meet our golden trio !!

Princess Leia Organa was, all things considered, having a bad day.

In the back of her mind, a headache was starting to linger — and, as far as she knew, as soon as it settled in, it wasn’t ought to leave her side until she lied down and forced herself to sleep. However, she could not allow such a luxury.

Building a new galaxy from scratch was _hard._ Impossible even, if someone dared to ask her on a bad day. And ever since the battle of Endor — although she wouldn’t willing admit it to anybody, not even to herself — her life had been followed by bad day after bad day.

It didn’t matter than the Empire had began to crumble; that the Emperor was dead; that she had watched Darth Vader _burn_ with her own eyes, and taken pleasure from it. It didn’t help that she had gained a brother in one of the people she trusted the most, because she had also gained a father in the man who had hurt her the most. It didn’t avail her the memories of her treatment on Jabba’s palace, always lurking, like shadows in the darkest depths of her mind.

Still, she got up, day after day, determined to do whatever fate had abided for her. She was aware of her destiny as much as she was in control of it; her hurting was irrelevant, because she had a job greater than herself, than her feelings, because there were little people apt to do that job, in case she stepped down — and she didn’t trust them to do it as well as she would, anyway.

Building a new galaxy was an arduous task. It required their undivided focus and effort, _specially_ now that the Emperor and Darth Vader had been defeated. This was their chance to make everything right again — even if Leia had never known right. She always thought it ironic how she had been born exactly when that tyrannic reign took place, but the revelations of the previous days had attuned her to a cause much larger than simply a twist of fate.

She had been born to undo everything that her father _chose_ to do.

She had just left a meeting with the high council, where it had been discussed what they ought to do next, considering that rebel agents had taken back the Senate building in Coruscant in the day before. One step closer to victory, one step closer to bringing peace back to the galaxy; yet, her mind was filled with every little detail that could go wrong. Nobody knew better than her how badly things could go, even against all odds.

Leia Organa was having a bad day; her headache was starting to creep in.

The tactical plan to taking back the Senate floor had been simple; too simple, she’d dare to say. The mission was to break in, take out the grand moffs that came on their way, occupy the senate floor, and shoot at every stormtrooper that tried to get on their way. Considering that the senate had been dismantled moments prior to her diplomatic ship, Tantive IV, being boarded by Darth Vader, it was more of a political mission than a military one. It was meant to send out the message that the rebels were giving back the galaxy the power to speak, a right that had been taken away by Palpatine. Hopefully, it was a message powerful enough that more planets would align to their cause.

She had spent the entirety of the previous day worrying about the mission, walking in circles around the rebel base, waiting for _anything_ to happen. Maybe she would be more comfortable with the mission if she had been allowed to come along. However, and she would not concede to the chancellor’s thinking, Mon Mothma had told her she was far more useful in the politic scenario, considering her status as the Princess who lost everything and therefore gave her life for the cause, helping reconstruct the system, rather than _dead_ on the battlefield. Those had been her exact words, and Leia had grimaced at them; she had made it alive so far, the odds for her survival were in her favor — but then again, wasn’t she the first one to say that odds existed to be defeated?

Still, not being allowed to go had made her more anxious than any other time she anticipated a battle. Specially since she was the one staying _behind_ ; Han had gone, because he was a terribly good shot—and mostly because he went whenever action went—and Chewie had gone, given his life debt to Han, and Luke had gone, to offer any insights that his power allowed him to sense. She had been the one to stay behind, and she did not like that one bit.

She had made a family of the three of them. For _years_ after Aldeeran’s obliteration, she had isolated herself, convinced that being alone was better than facing the pain of losing everything she loved. And then, Han had come along, and Luke had started to act like her brother long before they—she—knew they were siblings, and everything changed.

Leia wasn’t ready to lose them; she didn’t know what would become of her if she were left alone all over again.

Of course, that hadn’t stopped her from picking up a fight with Han that previous night, when he had arrived from the mission, sweaty and exhausted, when she hadn’t been allowed to go. She wasn’t sure what she was fighting him about, or if he had even been listening to whatever she was raving about, but she hadn’t seen him ever since she slammed the door at him, and the stupid one sided argument was hanging over her head, _adding_ to her headache — in some deep, unconscious level, she understood she was trying to alienate herself from him, just like she did in the aftermaths of the battle of Yavin, as some attempt to alleviate her feelings for him.

She didn’t know why she had retroceded, or why she was acting up again. Mostly, she just wanted to have one good night of sleep. 

The mission had been a success; they could start building bureaucracy again, they could achieve a democracy again. Leia sighed heavily, walking around the rebellion’s hidden base in the outskirts of Coruscant’s Federal District, not so far away from the Senate Office Building, with no destination in mind. Of course, no one beared authority better than her, so, even in her most distracted state, she would still look determined and strong headed to anyone who dared to spare her a glance. Maybe she should go after Han, and apologize to him for being so stupid and inconsiderate _._ Maybe she should find Luke, and seek some sense of comfort from his ramblings about the Force, and how she should train to become a Jedi as well. Maybe she should head back to her quarters, and just close her eyes for a few minutes—

“Excuse me.”

Leia was so distraught she nearly passed straight by the voice that called for her attention, but she stopped dead on her tracks as soon as she saw a strange woman entering her vision field. It wasn’t the fact that she had never seen her before that won Leia’s awareness — it was her big, sad eyes, displaying so much loss, yet so much _hope_ for better days.

Leia grimaced. She had seen those same eyes on her reflection in the mirror, so many times, especially in the aftermath of Yavin, when the shock of everything that happened in the Death Star had worn off. Now, they only reflected a blank state of numbness.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Your Highness,” the unfamiliar woman said, simultaneously giving her a brief curtsy, with one of her hands in her chest as a sign of respect. Leia stared at her wild eyed, somehow bothered by her act, but a little impressed — whomever they were, as simple as they origins seemed to be, they were quite familiar with royal protocol. 

“You’re not disturbing me,” Leia responded simply, acknowledging her apology and dismissing it. She had an odd feeling coming from her instincts — from the _Force_ , Luke would remind her — and although the woman showed no signs of hostility, Leia remained suspicious. 

“I’m Padmé.”

“Padmé,” Leia repeated her name almost instantaneously, not allowing her the chance to say anything else in her behalf. She quickly scanned her face and tried to match the name to one of the many fighters the rebellion deployed — of course, it was nearly _impossible_ to know every one of them, but Leia did try. As a figure of authority, knowing the names and the lives of those who worked under her was essential, so they would feel like she cared, like they weren’t throwing their lives away for nothing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met before.”

“We haven’t,” Padmé certified. Although she was a few inches taller than the princess, Leia had a way of making herself seem taller than anything and everyone else in her presence. It was a way to impose respectfulness; Padmé had once handled that art during her years of reign. “I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but I spoke to a Badi Naaman, that deferred me to a Rab Barwon, who sent me to a Wedge Antilles, who pointed me to you. Your Highness.”

Padmé was unsure why she suddenly felt so nervous speaking with the princess. She didn’t think it was the lack of practicing diplomacy — no, that was something one couldn’t forget — but looking at those pale cheeks of hers, at that young girl in a world built for men, she felt tingles of anticipation running down her spines.

Once they had reached the Alliance's headquarters, Padmé was lost. She had no idea where to go to, or _whom_ to go to. She was suffocated, even, at the prospect that she was one step closer to _him._ Ameera merely shrugged at her disorientation, but once considering all their little bonding back in the ship, she offered to show her around, and hopefully _bump_ into Luke Skywalker, to make things easier. Her offer, however, had been short lived, as the moment Max heard her, he stepped in, saying that he would turn a blind eye to her going off planet while he did _all_ the dirty job in Hosnian Prime, but he wasn’t about to let her wander off while he unloaded the ship on his own. Grimacing, Ameera simply apologized and left Padmé alone.

So Padmé had begun her journey after Luke. She talked to person after person; many of them scoffed at her, suggesting they were too low ranking to answering any questions regarding the hero of the rebellion. Others kindly apologized for their lack of knowledge, but sent her to another wild hunt after someone who just _might_ know of his whereabouts. And that, after long hours of walking aimlessly around the base, led her to Princess Leia Organa.

Maybe it was her eyes—those big sad eyes—that made Padmé apprehensive while standing in front of the monarch. Eyes that had seen so much, _too_ much, in just a few years of life. Eyes that had lost too much, lost an entire planet, lost every family and familiarity. Eyes that, amidst all the destruction that the Empire had caused, survived to see the wreckage.

Padmé Amidala _pitied_ those eyes.

Most days, the knowledge that her family remained safe and sound in Naboo came to her as a comfort. The comprehension that, one day, when all of it was over, she could go _home_ and see her sister, and her niece, and maybe even her parents, brought her warmth. The idea that Leia Organa didn’t have a home to go back to once the war had ended made her feel sorry for the young princess.

All of sudden, realization struck her and Padmé’s face all but fell. She couldn’t afford to lose her composure in front of her, but a twist came from stomach when she connected the dots. _Leia_ _Organa_ ; daughter of Breha and Bail Organa. The Alderaan’s prince escort had been one of her strongest allies in the Republic’s senate, and, above all, he had become her friend during the Clone Wars. 

He had stood against the Emperor at all given chances; she knew as much, she wouldn’t have need to follow his career on the holos to make such an affirmation. And, because of his actions, Alderaan had paid the ultimate price. Because of his fight, his daughter had been left to mourn for an entire civilization, an entire culture. Everything that she had ever known.

Padmé felt _sorry_ for her. Dying for a cause was easier than watching those they loved die for the cause; she didn’t doubt for a second that many times the princess had wished she’d died along them as well.

Bail had grown close to her during the endless agony that the Clone Wars was made of. In a bad day, after they had been both worn out after hours of arguing in the senate for a better galaxy, he broke down next to her. He confessed to her that the political state was taking the best out of him, and, when he got to go home, the pain of his wife being unable to carry a child took the rest of him. He hadn’t said that to spite her, considering that her pregnancy womb was already showing, but he had reached his breaking point and she could do nothing but to offer him her comfort.

Looking at Princess Leia Organa, she came to the conclusion that him and Breha had worked around the issue. Leia didn’t bear any resemblance to her parents, therefore she could have only been adopted. They had given Alderaan a heir to their throne that didn’t come from their royal blood; honorable, as Breha and Bail had always been. Padmé had only met the Alderaanian queen once, when she had gone to Alderaan in a diplomatic mission, and she had tasted a little of Breha’s universally known kindness and good heartedness. She was certain that Leia had been the most spoiled and wished for baby in the entire galaxy.

Still — and she couldn’t help herself — she felt sorry for _her_.

“Well, you’ve found me,” Leia’s hoarse graceful voice called Padmé back from her thoughts, and she noticed that the princess held her hands clasped in front of her, in a bargaining position. “How can I help you?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to hold you for long,” she apologized once more, and instantaneously damned herself for it. This time — and she wouldn’t blame her — Leia didn’t address her apologies at all. “I was—I _am_ looking for Skywalker. Luke Skywalker.”

“Luke Skywalker?” Leia repeated the name, in a tone that could have fooled anyone into believing she knew barely nothing of the man. She would have fooled Padmé, if she didn’t already know, from Ameera’s insight, that the princess and the hero were close friends. “Is he expecting you?”

“He isn’t, but—”

“Is he aware of your identity?” her voice was suddenly sharp and threatening; every bit of her that previously tried to conceal any suspicion of the woman slowly started to loosen up.

“I don’t think he is,” Padmé swallowed hard. “We did meet once, however, when he was just an infant, but I don’t expect him to remember me.”

Which was, in some twisted way, _true._ He came from her, therefore they had to have shared a room at least once — _even_ if neither of them could remember it. Padmé chose to stick to this small truth, and go from there.

Leia accented with a gracious nod, regardless if there was nothing gracious of how she felt of the entire situation. “I don’t mean to probe, but whatever your business with Luke Skywalker is, is it wise? We are all in his dept, and I’d hate to see him fall into any further deception.”

Leia couldn’t explain where that sudden protectiviness of her brother came from, but it provided her heart a tight feeling. Ever since Luke’s revelation under the moon of Endor, she felt an urge to keep him stray from any further harm. He had done enough, he had _suffered_ enough, under the hands of his own father; she could take any unnecessary pain that came next for him. She owed it to him.

Padmé felt herself even smaller than before; whoever this young girl was, she seemed to be reading all of Padmé’s anxieties like an open book. Like a _Jedi,_ Padmé would dare to say, if she didn’t know better than that, if she didn’t know that all force sensitive children were killed by the Empire long before they could delve into their power, and, most importantly, if she didn’t know that Bail Organa wouldn’t be crazy to hide a force sensitive child under the Emperor’s nose while simultaneously fighting the Emperor for democracy in the senate.

It wasn’t a deception; Luke Skywalker _was_ her son, she was certain of it, but she understood very well that it could be seen as one. Luke had no reason to believe on an absent mother that suddenly appeared once all the trouble was past, and Padmé had no credibility to be seen as honest. It could all come down as a hoax — and not even the most elaborate one — and Padmé would be left with nothing but a heartbreak.

She had had enough of those already.

“Do you know where he is, Your Highness?” Padmé humbly asked, knowing better than to answer to the Princess’s enquiry. She wouldn’t be able to answer it with conviction, and Leia would be able to see right through her.

Although she offered her eyes filled with disappointment of her lack of commitment to the truth — and those eyes had the ability to make anyone crumble — Leia simply acknowledged her request, “I assume his on the hangar, working on his X-Wing.”

There was no point in lying, because, whoever this Padmé person was, she would be able to trace him down with or without her help, but Leia did regret making it so easy for her. With a sigh, she watched as Padmé once again curtsied and walked past her with her head low.

To Padmé, it was a relief to have finally made it past the princess. Not only because she stood as a threat to the path between her and her son, but because she assembled too many ghosts from the past; ghosts that hurt too badly to be remembered. Forgetting was easier than reminiscing.

What she didn’t expect, however, was for the princess to suddenly abandon all of her defenses and to whisper a plea that drained all the life from her.

“Don’t hurt him.”

Padmé turned around to face her, only to find Leia with her back to her, looking sideways, down to the ground, and displaying nothing other than her profile. She remained static, waiting, just _waiting_ for a promise that Padmé couldn’t bring herself to make.

Instead, dwelling in her own shame, Padmé walked away.

* * *

Han Solo could be, other than every time he had been chasing the princess like a wounded dog, most certainly be found at the hangar, at any given time, tinkering with his always-in-need-of-repairs ship.

That day, the constant remained consistent, safe from one single detail: he was twinkling with Luke Skywalker’s starship, rather than his own. Not because the Millenium Falcon had suddenly been fixed for good, but because _he_ needed someone to shout at while he angrily messed with the X-Wing’s mechanics.

“I don’t understand her, Luke!” Han’s shouting was muffled by his close contact with the ship’s exterior carcade, but, still, perfectly heard. “It’s like she wants to drive me insane!”

“And she’s succeeding, apparently,” Luke argued with a contained chuckle, knowing very well his comment would only drive his friend madder, but being unable to keep it to himself, either. “Look, Han, you’ve just got to give her some space.”

“I _am_ giving her space,” a loud thud of something being smashed came from his fixing, to which Luke remained unbothered to check. “I barely see her all day. I don’t know if she’s busy, or if she’s just ignoring me. But I barely see her, and when I do, she’s angry at me. And I can’t apologize, because I don’t know what it is that I’ve done wrong!”

“Maybe, huh, you should apologize anyway?” Luke suggested, the most naïve look plastered on his face. He couldn’t think of any rational reason on why Han Solo would be seeking romantical advice from _him,_ other than the fact than Leia was his _sister_. Though, if he came to think about it, that was just another reason on why Han should be talking to anyone other than him. 

Another thud. “Only to have her _angrier_ at me for apologizing for something I’ve done that I don’t know that it’s hurt her?!” Another. “Only to have her yell at me for being such a big idiot that I can’t tell that I’ve _hurt_ her at all?!” And another. “Only to have her _certain_ that I’m not good enough for her?!”

“Whoa, Han, where did that come from?!” his higher pitched tone was so abrupt that it gave Han a start big enough to make him jump. “Just over a year ago, you were all over the place spreading your manhood and giving every reason to _why_ you were the only match suitable for Leia?! What the _heck_ happened?!”

“A lot can happen in a year,” he whispered, pressing his sweaty forehead to the cold metal of the ship. He wasn’t trying to have Luke pity him — in fact, he would never expect Luke to take his side rather than his sister’s — he just needed someone to listen to all his interior anguish. 

“You’re saying that you don’t _love_ her anymore?! Han—” his voice was full of threats; Han couldn’t remember a single time he had seen Luke genuinely act hostile. Somehow, his reaction brought a sense of relief to his chest; Luke would bring hell to anyone who tried to hurt his sister, even Han himself.

“ _No,_ kid, that’s not what I’m saying at all,” Han argued. “I don’t think I could be more in love with Leia.”

For the first time, he turned around from his fiddling to face Luke, only to find him sat on the floor, his legs folded in front of him, slurping some canned juice, like some sort of child — that image alone was borderline pathetic, considering that _that_ was the manchild who had single handedly brought an end to Palpatine and Darth Vader. Han grimaced, simultaneously memorizing every single detail of his lack of composure so he could ridicule him to Leia afterwards.

“Well,” Luke prompted, with the straw still hanging from the corner of his mouth, “Have you tried telling her that?”

“Huh? Telling her what?”

“That you _love_ her,” he pointed out the obvious.

“She doesn’t need me to tell her that,” Han crossed his arms in front of him, “She _knows_ that.”

“Okay,” Luke did his best not to lose his patience, “Have you considered telling her, anyway?!”

“Aren’t you a genius. One _I love you_ and our entire relationship is fixed,” he mumbled under his breath, although still making a mental note to tell her just that the next time he saw her.

“I wouldn’t suppose it’d be _that_ easy,” Luke innocently replied. “Leia is going through a lot. You have to give her the time and the space to cope with everything that’s been hurting her, while still showing that you care, that you’ll be there for her no matter what.”

“It’s hard to do that when she’ll shut off at the simple mention of Vader,” Han admitted, his gaze suddenly attracted to the floor. To him, her parentage didn’t matter in the slightest; actions defined one self, not blood, and she had showed time and time again how worthy she was. However, she was the one that still needed to be convinced that being Darth Vader’s daughter didn’t take away her honor.

“I know, Han. I’ve been there,” Luke reminded her, bringing a grim to Han’s face. “When I learned that Vader was my father, I was devastated. The pain of knowing your own father is responsible for all that is evil and wrong in the galaxy is strong enough to crush your spirit. I never felt so alone, believing I couldn’t share that knowledge with anyone, for they would condemn me for my father’s sins, until I realized, my father is responsible for his own deeds, not me.”

“It’s a good thing, then, that Leia’s not alone,” Han said. “She’s got you, and she’s got me. Hey, kid, maybe you could talk to her. Give her some insight on how to overcome this… whatever it is that she’s feeling.”

Luke shook his head almost instantaneously. “I won’t bother her. She needs to come terms with this, with _herself,_ and only she can do that. Unless she directly comes to me for help, I will give her the space to work this however she needs to.”

“She won’t come to you,” Han sighed, “She’s too proud for that.”

“I wouldn’t expect her to,” Luke said, unfolding his legs and stretching them far apart — his stance couldn’t get any worse, and Han was still trying to understand _how_ he and Leia were siblings, when she was always holding her composure and elegance while he looked like… that. 

“I hate seeing her suffering, Luke,” Han spoke with a low voice. “And I _know_ that she’s hurting, even if she doesn’t tell me. I can see it in her eyes.”

“Just be patient with her,” he pleaded. “Promise her you’re not leaving. You spent so much time threatening to leave that, at the end of the day, that’s still her biggest fear. That she’ll open her heart completely to you only to have you leave in the morning.”

“I will _never_ leave her,” his voice was suddenly harsh and firm, and then, insecure, “Did she tell you what?”

“She doesn’t need to tell me,” Luke argued, leaning on his hands behind his back. “She’s my twin sister. I can tell what’s on her mind.”

Han rolled his eyes to the far back of his head. “You’ve known that for _three_ days, kid.”

“She’s my twin sister,” he repeated, trying to emphasize his point. “And I just happen to be force sensitive. So is she.”

Han snorted. “Can you read what’s on _my_ mind?”

“I don’t need to be force sensitive to know that you’re cussing me right now, Han,” he shrugged, his remark only bringing a smirk to Han’s face. “‘Sides, the Force doesn’t work like that. I can’t read someone’s mind, it’s more like sensing their feelings.”

“Yeah?” Han rose one of his brows high, “Can you sense that I don’t care how the Force works?”

“I can, actually,” Luke seemed indifferent with his lack of faith on the matter. “But you should try to be more considerate with the ways of the Force. Specially now that we know that Leia is Force sensitive, too. She might want to start training, someday.”

Han didn’t reply, however, for his attention had suddenly been caught by the sight of an unfamiliar woman staring at them; eavesdropping on their conversation. He couldn’t tell for how long she had been there, watching them, only that her presence made him uneasy.

At the lack of an answer, Luke carried on with his raving, “She is very strong with the Force, you know. I can sense it, call it a brother’s intuition. Besides, considering who her father is—”

“Luke,” Han shut him up before he disclosed something that Leia wasn’t ready for the general public to learn. Luke frowned at the interruption, at last looking up at him to gather some insight on the disruption, only to find his stare somewhere else. He traced his line of sight until he came across the figure of an older woman, and that was all it took for him to set back up straight on his feet.

Under any other circumstances, Han would have made fun of his sudden change of posture, remarking that he obviously had some authority issues. However, he was too preoccupied studying the unknown party from head to toes.

“You know it’s rude to eavesdrop on people you don’t know?” Han cut the tension in the air with a grim, although he didn’t move a muscle. Unlike Luke, he had more pressing things to worry about than his composure — such as _when_ should he pull his blaster out at her.

“Oh, I wasn’t eavesdropping,” the unknown woman clarified, hesitantly taking one step forward. “I was waiting from an adequate distance for your conversation to end, so I could approach.”

Han fussed his brows together with suspicion. “We could have remained talking for the remnants of the day.”

“And I would have waited,” she guaranteed. “I don’t have anything else to do.” 

“This is the _rebellion,_ ” Han nearly gasped at the absurdity of it. “Everyone’s got something to do.”

“I’m sure they do,” she nodded gracefully, “I, however, am not with the rebellion.”

Han’s first instinct was to place his hand over his blaster, to which Luke reacted by stretching his arm between the both of them. “If you’re not with the rebellion, then how did you get here?”

A question that the woman didn’t bother to answer. “You’re Skywalker, right? Luke Skywalker?!”

“I am,” Luke bowed his head in acknowledgment, tuning himself to the strange woman’s feelings — they were _odd._ They held no hostility or promises of threats, however, they were sharpened by a sense of relief and panic at the same time. Her breathing had accelerated in the slightest, while her heart pounded fast against her chest. Whoever she was, she had come there with something to achieve. “How may I assist you?”

She embraced her torso with her own arms, unintendedly making herself small and vulnerable, but shielding her core from any possibility of impact. “Is there somewhere private, where we can talk?”

Luke nodded and was about to take a first step, when Han’s arm abruptly held him back. “Anything that you have to say, you can say in front of me. He’s going to tell me later, anyway.”

And he would — either because it turned out to be a weird situation that Luke would want to share or because Han bugged him until he cracked. Probably the latter.

She smiled tenderly at him. “I’m sure he would. I’m sure he _will_. However, I don’t ask for privacy for Luke’s sake, but for my own.”

Luke provided a look of comprehension, even though he could sense his friend next to him yelling _trap!_ over and over inside his head. As usual — _and_ as any sane human being should do, most of the time — he ignored Han, gesturing for her to lead the way.

Before leaving, he placed his hand on Han’s forearm and squeezed it tightly. “ _Talk_ to her.”

Han gave him a firm nod, and watched him go without another single word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so this is one of my favorite chapters so far. leia organa is the absolute love of my life and i love writing her the most. i hope you guys have enjoyed this brief introduction of the golden trio !


	5. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, we’ve reached the chapter i assume you all have been waiting for. i hope it doesn’t disappoint!

Padmé could barely hold herself together anymore.

Seeing Luke Skywalker with her own eyes ceased any qualm she still had about their kinship. Standing before Luke Skywalker made her tremble from head to toes; he was a spinning image of her late husband. Although his hair was a few shades lighter, and his stature, several inches shorter than Anakin, he shared his  _ eyes _ . Those big blue eyes, that held all of life, all of the universe, inside of them. From the little she had seen of him, she noticed that his lips curved into a smile to the same side as Anakin’s did, and they both shared the same dimple in their chins.

She couldn’t  _ wait  _ to know him; to know what else he had heritaged from Anakin, from herself, that went deeper than just physical appearance.

There were so many questions going through her head, so many little things she was desperate to learn. She wanted to know where he had grown up, whom had their parents been, or if he didn’t have any parents at all. She wanted to ask what was his favorite food, and what he did on his free time. She wondered if he had ever loved anyone, for there were few things more powerful than a Skywalker in love.

_ Calm down, Padmé,  _ her own voice screamed inside her head. She needed to remain calm, otherwise she would lose her mind — and she would  _ hate  _ if that was the first sight of her that her son got. 

They had all the time in their world; nobody would take him away from her again.

“Sit down,” after a loud clearing of his throat, Luke instructed. He had found them a quiet little lounge, and locked the door so nobody would disrupt them. Unlike Han’s cynicism, he sensed no reason why he should fear the stray woman. Sure, there was a lot of fright coming  _ from  _ her, but she gave him no reason to worry.

There was something strangely familiar about her. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but the Force was telling him to trust her. And he trusted the Force more than anything.

Padmé did as she was told, taking a seat at the far edge of a centuries old couch, expecting he would join her by her side. Her legs remained pressed together, while she anxiously rubbed the fabric over her thighs with her hands; she was  _ so  _ nervous, nothing had prepared her for that situation.

In the spur of the moment, she realized she had  _ no idea  _ how to proceed. Surely, dropping in and just saying, ‘ _ Luke, I am your mother’ _ would paint her as insane, and that was the kind of information that required to be built upon. Padmé was just struggling to build it right; years of diplomatic training had never anticipated such a reality.

Sure, the galaxy was a big place. There was bound to be several male politicians that ended up impregnating girls and never sticking up long enough to learn about their child, or just paying them large sums of credits so they would disappear forever. But a  _ female  _ politician only learning of her motherhood twenty years too late? There wasn’t a textbook for that.

“I can see that you’re agitated,” Luke observed, but didn’t clarify on how he came across that conclusion. Holding his back straight, he sat next to her, but kept a respectful distance. “Whatever it is, I can help you.”

Although she hadn’t exactly been holding his gaze, her eyes fell to her own lap.  _ Stupid Skywalkers,  _ always being able to sense in the Force her emotions, and she couldn’t help but shyly smiling at the notion. “I’m sure you can help me, Master Skywalker. That’s why I’m here.”

“Master—oh, I’m not a master,” Luke frowned at her eloquence. “You can just call me Luke.”

“Luke,” she said his name; it tasted sweet on her lips. “I thought you were a Jedi.”

“I am a Jedi,” he started, his interest suddenly peaked.  _ That  _ was the subject that could have him raving for hours and hours straight. “But I’m not a master. Well, I don’t think I am. Actually, since the Jedi are around no longer, I’m not exactly sure of how their rankings worked. It’s hard to come across any knowledge of their ways of lives, as Emperor Palpatine destroyed everything concerning the Jedi, and I can’t ask anyone, because no one knows. No one  _ remembers _ , that’s how profound Palpatine’s erasings were. But I think a Jedi had to have taught someone the ways of the Force, so they would earn the title of a Jedi Master.”

His eyes were sparkling as he finished talking, and then, he flushed significantly. “I’m sorry. I have spoken too much.”

“Not at all,” Padmé assured him, grinning at his colored cheeks. Each second she spent with him, she learned new quirks of his that hit so close to home. Like Anakin, Luke seemed to ramble forever about the things he was passionate.

And through that quality… She realized, that was the way to come to him.

“You can ask me,” she said, threading carefully. “About the Jedi.”

Just like that, his eyes were full of life and curiosity; whatever personal distance that existed between them was suddenly exterminated, as Luke indecorously launched himself towards her. “You knew of the Jedi?!”

Padmé opened a wide smile, feeling warm inside. His enthusiasm was sweet and absurd — much like her passion for his father, before he betrayed her in the worst way he could. “I knew  _ the  _ Jedi. I was close friends with a few of them.”

His features suddenly switched from surprise to shock; he could barely believe he had come across someone who had known the Jedi intimately, let alone that that someone would fall right on his doorsteps. Thinking of that, his cheeks blushed  _ again.  _ “Oh, I’m so sorry. You came to me about something important, and yet here I am raving about my own matters.”

“You don’t have to to apologize for that,” Padmé was quick to dismiss it. “Seeing people passionate about their interests, without fear of reprimand, is a good thing. It means we’ve won.”

Luke grinned broadly at her. “Still, you have to forgive my lack of manners. I didn’t even remember to ask you your name!”

“It’s Padmé,” she said, and then fell silent.

“Padmé. It’s a beautiful name, I think I’ve heard it before,” he prompted, although doubt was written all over his face. “Have we met? There’s something familiar about you.”

Padmé’s expression suddenly fell. Her heart started to pound in her ears, nearly deafening. She could barely hear her own thoughts over it. Tingles of anticipation ran all down her spine, all over her body, she could hardly steady her breathing pattern. This could be it, this could be the moment that—

“No, we haven’t,” her lips suddenly had a life of their own, and she mentally cussed herself. She didn’t know why, after days of hunting him down and foreseeing their reunion, she was evading it so badly. Perhaps he wasn’t ready, perhaps  _ she  _ wasn’t ready; perhaps she would only ruin his life if she dared to enter it.

She hadn’t thought of it before, and she felt so self centered for it. Ever since learning that he was alive, she had only thought of herself, of her happiness, of being reunited with her son, of being his  _ mother.  _ Never once did she stop to think the catastrophe that it could be for him; maybe he didn’t know he had been adopted, maybe he didn’t care to learn about his birth parents, maybe he already was happy enough as he was.

And then, there was Vader. He was always there, lingering in the darkest places of her mind; Luke couldn’t possibly know about his parentage, for it was unlike that Vader himself knew that his child had lived; they both had been carefully hidden. It was unfair to bring that awareness to him, it would hurt too much. More than it hurt her. Knowing that he had come from the monster of the galaxy, bringer of pain and terror to everyone who crossed paths with him, seemed worse than falling in love with said monster.

How could darkness itself give life to someone so full of light?

“I think you’ve mistaken. We’ve had to have met before, I can  _ feel  _ it,” Luke insisted, looking right at her face and trying to gather some information from it. “You’ve known the Jedi. You know that we are never wrong about what we feel.”

She let out an anxious laugh at his remark; using her own words against her, maybe he would turn out to be a great politician someday. “Well, you’re the Jedi here. Why don’t  _ you  _ remember?”

Luke made a face, but lightened up immediately after. “I haven’t been a Jedi all my life. I’ve been a Jedi for little time, in fact. I was pretty aloof for the first 20 years of my life!”

She glanced at him with kind eyes; she could feel the good in his heart, and she didn’t need to be a Jedi to sense it. Everything about him was an epitome of good. “You’re the aloof one, and yet you’re trying to blame  _ me  _ for not remembering someone I  _ might  _ have run paths with? When I’m not even Force sensitive?”

His jaw fell open at her accusation, until he realized she was teasing him. Belittling him, exactly how Leia tended to do with him — although he didn’t know why he had suddenly made that connection. “You said you were friends with the Jedi. You  _ could  _ be Force sensitive.”

“I’m not Force sensitive.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“ _ Because _ ,” Padmé said with a firm voice, unlike anything that she had posed to him before. “Had I been Force sensitive, Emperor Palpatine would have killed me in his emergence.”

Luke suddenly felt very small next to her; he should have known better than to speak every impetuous thought that came to his mind. She had most likely seen all her friends die, under a tyrannical government, and he had wronged her with his carelessness. “I’m sorry.”

Although she pressed the back of her hand under her eye, her posture remained flawless. “What are you apologizing for? You didn’t kill them. No; you were the one to end it all.”

He wanted to deny it; not only had him failed to kill either Palpatine or Vader, he hadn’t brought the beginning of the Empire’s end on his own. It was his mission, but he would never have gotten where he was if it weren’t for the thousands of lives sacrificed in the war; if it weren’t for Leia and Han, always by his side, supporting him no matter what. He kept all those considerations for himself. “I am sorry that I’ve hurt you.”

Although she refuted the idea of him ever purposely hurting her—well, she barely knew him to jump into such conclusion—she accepted his apology gracefully. “We, the entire galaxy, are in your debt, Luke Skywalker. But no one more than me. I know the war isn’t over, that we still have a long battle against evil ahead of us, but, by bringing Palpatine and Vader to their end, you’ve allowed so many of us to step out from hiding under the shadows of the empire. You’ve allowed  _ me  _ to have my life back.”

From the astonished look on his face, Padmé assumed he had yet to understand how many  _ lives  _ he had saved for defeating Palpatine; she smiled at him sweetly. 

“Why were you hiding?”

Padmé immediately became tense, and Luke damned himself again. Nothing he did seemed be to right, and the great Jedi wanted to crawl into a hole and hide in embarrassment. Whoever that woman was, she was bringing some sort of effect on him that he couldn’t explain.

“Like I said, I was friends with the Jedi,” she said hoarsely, breaking his expectation that she would dodge the matter. “I was a threat to the Empire as much as the Empire was a threat to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

He grimaced, but made a mental note to just stop doing that. “I feel… I feel like I know you. I can’t explain it, but I can’t shake this feeling off.”

Padmé smiled sadly at him, but remained in silence. Maybe it would be easier if he worked this out on his own, and she wouldn’t be directly responsible for either ruining or blessing his day. She wasn’t known for running away from battles, but she had never been so scared in her life.

“I think…” Luke continued, trying to solve the puzzle on his own. “I think I have dreamed of you before.”

Her heart might have just skipped a beat at that allegation. She wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around him and say she had dreamed of him too, that she had watched him grow in her dreams, that she had never ever stopped loving him—

“Luke, can I give you a little advice?” she prompted, seriously, and he was so eager to hear it his eyes became twice as big. Her traits remained humorless, trying to impose years of wisdom, until the corner of her lips lift up in a smirk, “Don’t tell people you’ve just met that you’ve dreamed of them. It’s  _ creepy _ .”

Whatever he was expecting to hear, her assessment was far from it; it made him both embarrassed and amused. “Leia keeps telling me I need to work on my people skills.”

“Maybe you should listen to her,” Padmé replied deadpan, but soon opened in a wide smile and a gentle laugh. 

He joined her in his chuckle, and appreciated that brief interlude to properly study her. To try and find what she was desperately attempting to contain from him. It all felt like oxymorons; talking to him made her both stiff and easy — he had never seen emotions conflict one’s soul as extremely as he had seen Vader struggle with the good and bad inside of him, and that was troubling him. 

He had never seen her, yet the Force was telling him that he had known her  _ forever _ . Perhaps his feelings were just as conflicted as hers. Luke looked at her, and he found himself at peace. Almost like looking at that beautiful, kind, but sad, woman, was enough to relieve him of all his worries.

Luke abruptly stood up — why had he just thought of Leia’s exact words to him to describe a woman that he had never seen before? What was it about her that was driving him  _ insane _ ?

He faced the whiteness of the walls for a while, gathering the courage to turn around and stare at those unfamiliar brown eyes again. “Padmé. Why are you here?”

Padmé suddenly felt small; she pulled both her legs up the couch and awkwardly embraced them _ ,  _ baffled at herself for her need of hiding. She couldn’t know if he had stood up with the intention of intimidating her, and, even though there was  _ nothing  _ intimidating about his pose or his persona, she surely thought he was succeeding. “I… I don’t know.”

“You know. You’re just afraid,” Luke accused, although there wasn’t any hint of hostility in his voice. “And I understand that. Being afraid… is terrifying. But I believe we all are strong enough to overcome our fears and come together as a whole.”

Padmé shyly nodded, but said nothing — what was happening to her? Where had all her fire and passion gone?

Unexpectedly, Luke dropped to his knees in front of her, placing his hands on the edges of the couch, never once touching her. “ _ Please _ , Padmé. I need to know.”

Her eyes were teary, and she concluded she  _ did  _ owe him an explanation. After all,  _ she  _ had been the one to drop out of the skies into his life. “I think… I think you should sit down.”

Without any dignity, Luke simply dropped to his bollocks on the floor and chose to remain there; silently, simply staring at her with big eyes, like a child that was about to receive a scorn from their parents.

“I said that I was friends with the Jedi,” she started, her eyes wandering all around the room but looking at no place at all. “It wasn’t as simple as that.”

“Why?” it seemed like a pointless question, as she was ought to elaborate anyway, but he hoped it would serve her as an incentive. That she would understand that he was just as terrified of what she was going to say as she was, but  _ needed  _ to hear it just like she needed to say it.

“I… I fell in love with a Jedi Knight, even though it was forbidden,” she spoke in a low voice, mind reminiscing the bliss of their affair, heart reviving the pain of their parting. “I married him.”

His mind tore in two different branches; one that begged for more of her story, other that sought to know why falling in love was forbidden in the old Jedi order. He forced himself to store the latter for later. “What was his name?”

Luke’s voice was quieter than the whisper of a scared child — in that moment, that was all that he was. A little child back in Tatooine, asking his Aunt and his Uncle questions about his parents that they couldn’t answer, refused to answer. In that moment, he felt like the child who carried his broken heart inside of him, wondering why his parents didn’t love him enough to keep him.

He didn’t know that that wound still hurt. He didn’t know that that void remained empty, even after learning about Vader.

Padmé closed her eyes as she finally let out, “His name was Anakin Skywalker.”

For the first few seconds, Luke simply sat there. Frozen within time, within himself, trying to make sense of the words that were just thrown at him. For the first few seconds, he remained still, staring at her with dove eyes, trying to memorize every little trail of hers, in the fear that she, like Anakin, would leave him again. What surprised him the most, however, was that her eyes shared that same fear.

Once past the initial shock, he brought his hand to his mouth, rubbing his fingers against his nonexistent beard—he had tried to grow it once, and that had gained him an uncontrollable laughter from Han and narrow eyes from Leia. His heart was racing inside his chest as he tried to make sense of the information he had just heart. He could be jumping into conclusions, of course, Padmé being married to the man who had fathered him could barely mean anything, but something inside of him was speaking so loudly he couldn’t think of any other alternatives.

Ever since he had left everything behind after the deaths of Owen and Beru, he had gained a father, and he had gained a sister, and, most importantly, he had gained a  _ family  _ in the strangers he met along the way. Could it be possible that after everything he had gained, the universe would still be kind enough to give him  _ more _ ?

“Luke,” Padmé cried his name, in a hushed tone, terrified of even saying his name. He had gone quiet for a long time now, and it was moments like this that she regretted she wasn’t a Jedi to know what was going through his mind. Perhaps he was simply waiting, mind devoid of thoughts, because the name Anakin Skywalker meant  _ nothing  _ to him. Perhaps he was just as devoid of his identity as she had been for the past twenty three years. “Please say something.”

Luke nodded, agreeing that he should to say something, but lacking the words he judged adequate for that situation. It wasn’t hard for him to fall speechless — most times, he concluded that hearing to what other people had to say, rather than speaking, was a bigger aid in his connection with the Force; it helped him stay focused and hear  _ past  _ what they were saying. Most importantly, after several attempts, he had learned he would never win against Leia in a verbal combat, so he had long stopped trying. 

“Luke,” Padmé tried again. “What are you thinking?”

“What am I thinking…” he managed to mumble under his breath, incomprehensibly. That was indeed a good question; he was feeling more than he was thinking, really. So, he decided to reach out to the Force for all the strength he needed and pour his heart out, “I am thinking, are you my mother?”

_ There.  _ There it was in the air, at last. Padmé didn’t know if she felt relieved or terrified at that. Relieved, because she had finally found what she had come there for, but terrified of his possible rejection. She had  _ abandoned  _ him, left him alone when he was just a baby, incapable of fending for himself; there was nothing stopping him from abandoning her, now, too, when she was 23 years too late. After all, it was the most logical thing to do. 

“I… I think I am,” was all the answer she found in herself to give. She  _ knew  _ as much; every single second she spent with him, her convictions only grew that he was, indeed, the child she had been told as dead for the past decades. She stood there, and she was certain that she was looking at her son’s eyes.

Abruptly, once again, Luke Skywalker stood up. His hand remained on his face, hiding most of his emotions away. He didn’t look at her face, he didn’t try to run away. All he did was to wait while the realization came to him. It all felt  _ unreal _ . But he could grow used to that idea.

“Luke…?” unlike him, Padmé slowly rose from her seat and hesitantly took a step closer to him. She hadn’t thought it was possible to dread a moment more than telling him about his parentage, but waiting for his reaction was infinitely worse. Whole eternities disguising themselves as seconds; the anticipation that he might send her away was all but killing her. “What are you  _ thinking _ , Luke?”

She was desperate, and she was long past hiding it.

“I’m thinking…” he tried, but his trail stopped there.

Padmé lowered her head, ready for the worse. Silently, she tried to make peace with herself — she had come there, she had made an effort, she had seen him with her own eyes. For someone who had believed him dead for half her life, that should be more than enough.

Except—she wanted more. She had seen him, she had felt his presence next to her, just like she had once felt his presence in her womb, and she didn’t want to let go. She desired to be close to him, to get to know him, to have the chance to be his  _ mother _ .

“I am thinking,” this time, his voice was louder and decisive; Padmé felt shivers running down her spine. Gravity at last pulled his arm down, relieving all his emotions at once. “This is… This is amazing!”

The most genuine, child-like smile appeared on his face. He was unable to keep that happiness inside of himself, he was incapable of holding himself back as he learned his mother was alive and had come back to him. Hence why, without any invitation, he threw his arms around her and hugged her tight.

Just like he would do in his dreams.

If Padmé was struggling before, she stopped functioning completely at his sudden gesture. Of all the multiple scenarios she had on her mind of how their reunion would go, he was breaking all her expectations. Well, maybe she did picture one or two times where he would welcome her with open arms, but those were so unrealistic she barely spent any time dreaming about them. He was a Jedi, of course, but she hadn’t thought he would be able to read her mind quite so literally.

That was when she came to the conclusion, she should stop thinking. She was past everything, she had found him and he had taken her in; her life had never been more  _ magnificent,  _ nothing else could possibly go wrong. She tightened her arms around him and hugged him for all the times she hadn’t.

“I can’t believe this…!” Luke cried, pulling away before it got awkward, with the main intention of looking at her in the eyes. “My mother! Here with me! I thought you were dead…!”

“Oh, Luke,” Padmé could feel the tears piling up in the corner of her eyes, but she refused to shed them. “I’m so sorry. I  _ never  _ wanted to abandon you, I promise. But I thought  _ you  _ were dead. For the past twenty years, I blamed them for taking you from me, when you were all that I had left.”

And Luke believed her; he didn’t need to be Force sensitive to sense that she wasn’t lying, he would  _ always  _ believe her. Perhaps, he was being too naïve, but his naivety had once led him to believe there was still good inside of Vader, and he had been  _ right _ . Perhaps, he was right about this, too. “The Empire has taken too much from all of us. But it doesn’t matter, because you have found your way back to me.”

She found herself drowning inside his ocean eyes, just like she once had been mesmerized by Anakin’s. She would have thought that looking at him would hurt her with the memories of the man she had fallen in love with, but being near Luke Skywalker only brought her bliss. “When I saw you in the holos… When I learned that a young man named Skywalker had brought down Palpatine and Vader… I knew it had to be you. I knew that my son had, somehow, survived. I traveled all across the galaxy just to find you.”

Luke held both of her hands in his; he never wanted to let her go. He would make sure that she never unwillingly left him again. “When I first met you… I  _ knew _ I had seen you before.”

Padmé smiled tenderly at him. “We can find out for certain, of course, if that’s what you’d like.”

“No…! I don’t need any proof of something that I know to be true,” he spoke from his heart, “I can  _ feel  _ it, Padmé! I’ve felt it ever since our paths crossed.”

“Still. People might not believe you. People might think I’m an imposter,” Padmé argued, a cold feeling inside of her. She had never cared for what other people thought of her, but now, after suddenly coming back to her son’s life, she started doubting herself, and how badly others would judge her. Perhaps, time had aged her spoiled.

“And I will fight anyone that comes in your way,” Luke assured, but then grimaced at his own words. “Not with the Force, of course. Or with physical force. I just mean that I will get very angry at them. Although I’ve been also told I’m not that great with my  _ anger  _ skills, either.”

She laughed at his ramblings. She couldn’t tell whether he was just nervous or if he were  _ always  _ like this; either way, it was adorable. “I think that’s something you shouldn’t be ashamed of.”

“Yeah, well. It could come in handy, sometimes,” he merely shrugged it off. He wouldn’t worry too much about that, anyway. He was Luke Skywalker, the last Jedi, hero of the rebellion. If he said Padmé was his mother, than Padmé  _ was  _ his mother. People didn’t question him, even if they might not believe him. That, of course, aside from Leia and Han — they were  _ always  _ questioning them, which Luke was grateful for. They helped him grow.

Therefore, they should be the first ones to know.

“I can’t wait to tell—” and just like that, his face fell. He immediately broke all the links between them, raise his hand to his forehead in pure despair. “Oh God. Leia.”

Padmé frowned, completely lost. She assumed he was talking about the Princess she had met earlier in the day; the cold princess that had all but daunted her. The princess that she had  _ pitied.  _ It had to be her, Ameera had told her the two of them were close, and she would believe it to be too big of a coincidence for Luke to have a different Leia in his life — it wasn’t a popular name, although it had been a preference of Anakin’s when they were discussing baby names. She ventured, “Leia…?”

“Yeah, Leia,” he simply repeated, as if that were supposed to make all the difference. It took him a few more seconds to leave his own maze. “She won’t like this.”

Padmé bit her lower lip. Whoever that princess was, she seemed to have a pivotal role in Luke’s life;  _ enough  _ to make him rethink his considerations for his newly discovered mother. She swallowed hard, “Is Leia your girlfriend?”

It would make sense, after all. It would explain why Leia had felt so overprotective of him when talking to her, and it would be a reason big enough to cause him dread. Feud between women was far from a recent phenomenon in the universe, and if she were already accustomed to having him all to herself, she might find it difficult to adjust to another major figure in his life —  _ especially  _ one that had been absent for so long.

“My… What? No,” he looked at her funnily, seemingly disgusted at the idea. “Leia’s my sister.”

“Your… sister?” she was even more confused than before. Bail Organa had been a close friend of hers, it was possible that he would take in her son, considering that his wife couldn’t conceive. But that didn’t explain why Luke didn’t inherit the Organa name, when Leia did — maybe Bail had tried to keep his origins alive, to honor both her and Anakin, when Leia had simply been nobody’s baby, who needed a home? She remembered that Alderaan’s appointed monarch was a Queen, so maybe Breha and Bail would try to pose Leia as their own, for the sake of royal lineage —but Leia didn’t look like them at all. “Your… adoptive sister, you mean?”

His neck was bent at such a weird angle, after her assertion, it could easily pass as broke. “What are you talking about? Leia, my  _ twin  _ sister.”

Padmé felt her knees growing weak under her; that  _ couldn’t  _ be possible. She had carried one child, one child only, not  _ twins.  _ Something wasn’t right, he  _ had  _ to be mistaken. She would have known if she had been carrying twins,  _ Anakin  _ would have sensed it if she were carrying twins; the medical droid wouldn’t be daft enough to hold back the amount of children she was carrying just because they had told it not to  _ ruin  _ the surprise. 

She fell down to the couch where she had been sitting; hadn’t it been there, she would have most likely fallen on her knees to the ground. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how blessed she had been to be sitting down when she saw the hologram of Luke Skywalker for the first time; finding out  _ a son  _ required a good chair, but learning about a second child that she didn’t even know she had… she needed, all things considered, to lie down.

_ A daughter.  _ She had given birth to a son an a daughter, and lost both of them. The worst part was not being able to  _ know  _ what she had lost. She felt like a bad mother, for spending years mourning him, and not once remembering her, regardless of how irrational that thought came to her. She felt like a terrible person, for, deep down inside of her, she felt  _ relief  _ for losing both of them. She wouldn’t be able to care for twins, on her own, while suffering from the loss and betrayal of Anakin’s; children that belonged to him, and would grow to be just like him.

Perhaps, growing away from their birth parents was the best thing that could have happened to them. They had a chance to grow free of the curse of their birth, and that had turned them into wonderful human beings.

Human beings that struck the heart of the Empire and took down a father they knew nothing of.

“You, huh,” Luke ventured, judging he had given her enough time to sort her thoughts, “You didn’t know about her?”

“No,” she whispered, ashamed of herself, with both her hands holding her temples. Realizing how unbelievable her story sounded, she began to explain, “Your father and I… We wanted to be surprised. We didn’t want to know if we were having a boy or a girl until we saw  _ you _ with our own eyes, and… We weren’t told we were having twins.  _ Twins _ !”

“It’s a shock, I know,” Luke agreed, finding the courage to sit next to her without feeling uncomfortable. It all still felt  _ too  _ unreal. “I know, because we’ve just learned it ourselves. And we’re still getting used to it.”

So they had been separated at birth, for their protection; Leia falling under the Organas’ care, and Luke—actually, she couldn’t work that one out yet. She just hoped that they had been both loved and cherished. Still, she remained safe by not giving him her eyes. “Leia…”

He nodded vigorously, following her lead and stretching far back so he wouldn’t have to look at her, either. “Leia… Leia is a phenomenal girl. She’s everything you’d want your daughter to be, you’re going to be very proud of her. You’re going to like her.”

Padmé frowned; there something hidden behind his voice. “But…?”

“But,” Luke conceded, making a face. “I can’t promise she’s going to like you, too.”

To his surprise, Padmé snorted. “Yeah. I’ve met her already.”

Ironically, she had met the daughter she didn’t know about before she met the son that she  _ did  _ know. Ironically, the reunion with the stranger had gone terribly bad, meanwhile, reconnecting with her estranged son had surpassed even the best of her expectations. She had been a fool to believe everything was magically fixed the moment Luke gracefully accepted her.

In return, Luke scoffed at her. “How did  _ that  _ go?”

Her entire face became red;  _ awful,  _ her first encounter with her daughter had been terrible, on both accounts. Leia was too suspicious of her, whereas Padmé had been too concerned with her own agenda to make a better appearance. But what she was beating herself the most with was how she had fallen ignorant of her own ideals and judged the young girl as the  _ cold princess  _ everyone else accused her of being. The entirety of their confrontation had been wasted on Padmé creating little misconceptions to an innocent girl that she had never seen before.

It was silly—and useless—to wish that she could rewind time itself and make that first meeting right. But in that moment, that was all she wanted.

“She, huh,” Padmé tried, her voice hoarse. “I don’t think she trusts me.”

Luke merely shook it off with a gesture of his hand. “Leia doesn’t trust anybody.”

The comment didn’t do wonders to calm her nerves. “She trusts  _ you,  _ Luke.”

“It did take her several years of mistrusting, scrutinizing me for any ulterior motives, and a lot of shit happening to us for us to get where we are today,” Luke explained.

He sighed, reflecting on all the time he had known her. Sure, he had come to her rescue in the Death Star, and he had been the one to shoot the vital shot to later blow up the Death Star, and she had personally awarded him with a medal — but after the battle of Yavin, nothing of that mattered. She had been too busy trying to hold herself together after the terrors she had gone through. She didn’t need to tell him so he would know that she was too scared to let anyone in, afraid that they would hurt her, or worse — leave her alone again.

Luke had the utmost respect for her; the notion that she had chosen to deal with her pain on her own only made her stronger in his image of hers. She was an inspiration to him, and to everyone around her.

“I’m sorry,” Padmé spoke with her heart heavy, “For all the terrors you and your sister must have gone through.”

“You’re not at fault. The war is,” Luke said. “I’m not saying it’s not hard, or that it hasn’t scarred us, but  _ we  _ chose to make our stand. We chose to sacrifice ourselves so everyone else could live better days.”

“I know, Luke,” she smiled sadly. Although the Clone Wars had been nothing compared to the horror imposed by the Empire, she, too, had the weight of wars on her shoulders. “Forgive me if it sounds a little too hypocritical of me, but you are right. I  _ am  _ proud of her, just like I am proud of you.”

He did his best to conceal his grin, and failed miserably. 

“Now,” her hands made a loud sound when they landed on her own thighs. “I believe I have unfinished business with a certain princess.”

“Wait,” Luke reached to her arm when she had just stood up. “Remember that DNA test I had discarded earlier?”

Padmé hummed.

“I think… We should be safe. Just in case.”

Although her lips remarkably fell apart, she conceded. She still had a battle to face with her other child, from what Luke was insinuating, and she would be damned if she left without a fight. 

She had lost them, once. Luke had already taken her in, so she vowed to never abandon him again, and she would do everything in her power to make amends with Leia as well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there we go! luke fina knows of padmé, and padmé finally knows of leia. so much tension they still need to unwind!
> 
> anyways, i’m not saying i’m completely inspired to update faster when you guys leave me those sweet little comments, but i am completely inspired to update faster when you guys leave me those sweet little comments hehe


	6. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, just.... wow. i can’t begin to describe how warm and gushy i’m feeling right now, all thanks to YOU. seriously, wow. i Never expected this story to have such a warm reception, or, like, any reception at all, and you’ve all got me smiling like a fool whenever i get a comment here or on twitter. you guys are amazing, really.
> 
> that said, i am once again inviting you to check out @FluffyTimelord’s [fanart](https://twitter.com/worshipfuiness/status/1248735839259164675?s=21) for this story. his work is awesome!
> 
> Also, someone pointed out that there has been a few grammar and orthographic mistakes that are making this story hard to be read. I apologize for that. English is not my first language and these mistakes often go past the foreign eyes, no matter how many times I reread a chapter before publishing it. So, if there’s any person (preferable a native English speaker) here who have any interest in proofreading this story, and baring with my crying writer ass, then let me know!
> 
> without any further delay, here we go, Padmé and Leia’s reunion!
> 
> PSA: this is the third time i’m trying to update this chapter, because, , for some reason, ao3 never sent out the update email the previous times. so here i am trying to post it again, hope it works!

Leia Organa believed that her heart was about to jump out of her chest.

She had been in the middle of a meeting with Mon Mothma when she got a message on her commlink from Luke, that said nothing more than ‘ _ emergency, come soon _ ’. As always, Luke’s lack of words skill amazed her; usually, it would bring a smile to her lips, and a reason to tease him for. In that moment, it only brought a twist to her stomach.

She  _ knew  _ she should have trusted her instincts. The moment her eyes had laid upon that Padmé woman, strangely asking about her brother’s whereabouts, something sparked inside of her and screamed at her,  _ problem.  _ And now, Luke was sending her messages of distress, and there wasn’t a single scenario in her mind that didn’t resolve him suddenly lying dead on the floor.

She swallowed hard, taking in a deep breath so she wouldn’t lose her posture. Even if her royal roots impeded her from ever losing her composure in the presence of others, that tactic did help her remaining calm. She would hate to make a scene and have it all turn out to be nothing.

“Mon,” her grave voice showed no signs of edginess. “I’m afraid I’ll have to cut our meeting short.”

Every now and then, Mon Mothma would call Leia into her office, all by herself, and they would just talk. Although the word meeting was always thrown around, and their political careers rarely impeded them from talking about the constitutional sphere, they mostly spent their time frivolously talking.

Mon Mothma had always been a political idol for her. When she was a child, Leia used to watch both her and her father with admiration and proud eyes.  _ That  _ was her father, and her father’s closest friend, and, one day, she would be just like them. Of course, she was destined to become the Queen of Alderaan, therefore she would have to handle internal affair, rather than becoming a politician in the Imperial Senate and trying to make an actual different. However, to her child’s eyes, her mother would live forever, and she would gladly be at her father’s side at the Senate for many years to come. 

Perhaps, Breha Organa had indeed been predisposed to live forever. The Empire just never allowed her to see it for herself.

When she turned fourteen, Mon Mothma became her political mentor, and Leia felt a sense of pride for being chosen amongst several other candidates, so she was constantly at the top of her game. Her ego wasn’t shrunken at the prospect that she had been chosen due to her status as princess of Alderaan, or being her father’s daughter; no, she knew the senator would never allow her under her care if she didn’t show potential. Mothma became her role model, and she would often even try to dress as Mon did. To this day, it remained unknown to Leia if Mothma was aware of her so discernible flattering or not. 

Now, at the age of 23, Leia hardly considered herself to be that same young and naïve girl on the Senate floor, trying to be heard while only being seen for her pretty face. The Death Star had changed her, and she bore no ties to that Princess of Alderaan anymore. Still, sometimes, very rarely, it was nice talking to someone who remembered her roots, who remembered who she used to be. Mon Mothma respected her, not only as at fellow politician, or a princess, but as a human being.

Leia, at her adult age, wouldn’t gush all over the supreme leader of the rebellion anymore, but she did appreciate having her friendship. Mon remained one of the few people who had her complete trust — and the other people were now reduced to space dust. Sure, she trusted Han and Luke with her life, but there were matters that she would only feel comfortable talking about with another woman. And there were so little other women on the base; she wouldn’t expect the boys to understand.

“Is everything alright, Leia?” Mon asked her with concern, having previously noticing how distraught Leia had become after receiving a message, but choosing to continue her conversation until the younger woman stated something. The moment had come.

“I… I don’t know,” Leia replied with a frown. “I’ve received a message from Luke, claiming there’s an emergency. I can’t tell whether something has happened or if he’s just being his dramatic self.”

“Ah, I see,” Mon bowed, allowing her lips the taste of a smile. “You’re right to go to him. He’s your brother, you should go him,  _ especially  _ when he’s being dramatic.”

Leia laughed quietly at her assertion. Maybe she was right; maybe Luke needed her help far more with futilities then with real, dangerous situations. In the end, he was still a skilled Jedi and quite capable of getting out of nasty circumstances…

… Or so she hoped for.

Not that many people were aware of the twins’ kinship, other than those most close to them; they weren’t keeping it a secret—no, the only big secret was their bloodline to Vader—but the galaxy was still at a war, and there were more pressing things happening. Mon Mothma, inevitably, had been one of those people. 

After the battle and celebration of Endor had ended, and the rebel troops returned to the mothership, Mon Mothma had been awaken in the middle of the night by someone pounding against the door, with so much rage that they risked knocking the door down. She instantly knew that could only mean one thing, the world had ended or was about to. 

She quickly threw a robe over her sleeping attire and came to meet whoever saw the galaxy collapsing before their own eyes. She couldn’t hide her consternation when the most composed person she knew stood there, clearly shaken off.

Leia Organa. The one person who had seen a world end and survived to tell the story.

“Princess Leia,” she spoke her name with the grace she always bore, although it was hard to conceal her concern. She stepped aside, allowing the young girl inside; from the way she had shrunken herself, with her head low and arms wrapped around herself, the supreme leader knew she wouldn’t like to be seen by prying eyes.

The princess entered deep into the room; she would think, that, given her status, Mothma would have the nicest chamber available, but it was quite average, much like her own. Or, given her own status as the princess without a home, she had also been given the best room, to give her a sense that she at least  _ belonged  _ somewhere.

Not that it usually worked, no.

“Did something  _ happen,  _ Your Highness?” Mon insisted, once Leia stood with her face near the wall and remained on her back to the leader.

Leia knew Mon to be using her royal titles without malice. She was one of the few people who knew Leia before Alderaan’s destruction, therefore she was one of the few people who referred to her titles with utter respect and understanding. Most days, that would come to her as a comfort, but not on the night that she had begun to dismantle her own identity. 

“But I’m not a princess, am I?” she whispered, more to herself than to Mon, and not expecting to be heard.

Mon frowned, without any clue of where that was coming from. After Alderaan, Leia had the ultimate respect for her crown and her culture; right then, they were entering unknown territory, “Leia,” this time, she let her title slide, as strange as it felt on her tongue. “What is this about?”

“Luke’s my brother. My biological brother,” Leia said, this much without any burden in her voice, and it contradicted all the emotions displayed on her face when she finally turned around. “Did you know, Mon?”

Mon held her hands together in front of her; she didn’t miss the accusatory tone on her voice, but chose better than to dwell on that. “Did I know that he was your brother—”

“You were my  _ father’s _ best friend, Mon,” Leia didn’t allow her the chance to elaborate. “You were a political ally, yes, but you were also his  _ best friend.  _ He told you everything.”

Mothma dared to take a step ahead, but stop midway through the moment she saw Leia flinch. “I have the most respect and love for your father, Leia, and it warms my heart to know that he held me at the same threshold. And because of that, had he told me something that, for your safety, he did not tell you, I wouldn’t break his trust—”

“Cut the crap, Mon!” Leia all but shouted; she wasn’t the one to usually swear, so it made the atmosphere significantly heavier when she did. She considered herself great at concealing her emotions, however, that night, she had been far too busy concealing something else to care. “My father is  _ dead _ . The Empire that killed him is in shambles. There’s no  _ trust  _ left for you to  _ keep _ .”

“Leia,” she tried again, her voice never once breaking the stern calm it always held.

“ _ Did you know _ ,” she repeated, giving a firm pause between each word. Had she had any sanity left, she might have realized how irrational she was acting.

“Unless you openly phrase what’s on your mind, Leia,” Mothma imposed, “I will not be able to help you.”

The sound of her own breathing was so loud and mechanical it scared her. Mon Mothma was right; she needed to say it out loud if she wanted to understand her own feelings about the matter. “Did you know,” her voice suddenly lost all its rage and became small. Just small. “That Darth Vader is my father.”

And just like that, she felt it all.

When Luke had told her, he had never explicitly said those words. He told her that he was Vader’s child, then, that she was his sister, and left the realization to creep into her on its own. She was thankful for his subtleness, but she also wished she had been told to her face, so she’d properly assess and digest the information. It was easier for her to deal with facts than with the emotions going through her head.

Leia lifted her hands to her face in pure horror and stumbled back until her back hit the wall. Her cheeks were no longer dry, and she uncontrollably felt her body be pulled down by the ship’s gravity until she was sitting on the floor. She had never expected her day to end with her collapsing in front of her superior officer.

Much less to have her superior officer sat down next to her, without any class or mannerism. 

“I didn’t know, Leia,” Mon confessed, and from Leia’s sudden ceasing of breathing, she realized she had made things worse. Her lack of knowledge meant that Leia spoke of a secret that was meant to be taken to her grave. “But I’ve always suspected.”

Although she still hid her face behind her hands, the comment helped her breathe again. “H-How?”

“Well,” forgotten of her common composure, Mothma crossed one leg under the other. “It was always a little suspecting that Bail would come home with an infant on the exact same day that the Republic and the Jedi fell. But I wouldn’t comment on it, because Bail wouldn’t be so crazy to raise Vader’s daughter under his nose. Which, in the end, provided to be the most perfect cover.”

She wanted to smile; laugh at her father’s boldness, but she could not bring herself to do it.

“You were right, your father did confide in me with most things,” Mon prompted. “But you know why he never told me about your bloodline?”

Leia waited in silence.

“Because, to his and Breha’s eyes, you were always  _ theirs.  _ Not Vader’s.”

Somehow, that only worsened her pain. She was feeling conflicted inside,  _ betrayed _ , and there wasn’t anybody left alive to whom she could address her feelings. Although she still did not make a sound, the stream of tears never stopped. 

“Leia, no other child in this entire galaxy was as loved as you were. Breha and Bail prayed for you, longed for you, and when you came, you were their miracle baby. They  _ worshipped  _ you, you were everything to them. You  _ are  _ everything to them. Now, I wasn’t as close to your mother as I was to your father, but, whenever Bail spoke of you, his eyes lit.”

Her heart was tight inside her chest; she had never once doubted her parents love for her, she had never once even questioned her origins — what had suddenly changed? What had changed was that she now knew that her parents had done more than to save her from an orphanage—or being dumped into a hole in the Outer Rim, such as Tatooine—they had saved her  _ life.  _ She didn’t doubt for a second that the Emperor, or anyone else with a brain, really, wouldn’t have Darth Vader’s children killed if they were aware of their existence. Yet—

“I feel… _betrayed,_ Mon,” she confessed, her voice beginning to crack. “And it’s not fair. It’s not fair because they’re _dead_. They’re dead and I can’t be angry with them for hiding something like this from me. They died before they could give me the answers I’m entitled to, and… and I’m all alone.”

She wasn’t trying to sound pitiful of herself, but merely stating a fact. Ever since Alderaan, she had no one left. No one who truly knew her, or knew more than the cold princess that ordered around the base. She had no one to share her happiness with, and she had no one to spare her comfort in her moments of needs—other than Mon Mothma, apparently. Leia was, in the essence of her core, alone.

Mothma gently placed her hand on Leia’s thigh, in little acts of consolation; she would have done more, she would have pulled her into a hug, if only their relationship didn’t feel so fresh and awkward. “You have Luke,” she argued, all but feeling the trepidation coming from her. “And Han.”

_ Han.  _ That was still a whole other matter that she had to deal with me. Leia still hadn’t told him, hadn’t found the courage to. She didn’t think she was scared of his reaction, only if in some deep, subconscious level. But Vader had tortured him, had frozen him in carbonite; she wouldn’t blame him if he wanted nothing related to that name.

“Luke and Han have helped me so much. Even if they don’t know it, but, after Alderaan, they drove me insane, and that kept me sane,” she breathed in heavily at the memory of them. “Selfishly enough, though, all I really want is my parents, back with me. It’s childish—I  _ know  _ I don’t get to act childish anymore, but my heart is  _ aching  _ to have my mother’s grace, telling me that it never mattered, and my father’s embrace, promising me that I was loved either way. I want the impossible, and I’m stealing them of their eternal rest for wanting the impossible.”

“You’re not selfish, or childish, for longing your parents’ guidance, Leia. It’s only human of you, to seek out to the only people who unconditionally loved you in your moments of despair,” Mon said. “Even I, sometimes, wish that I still had my parents’ counsel to tell me I’m doing the right thing. And your parents would have given  _ anything  _ to still be here with you, but I promise you, Leia, between you dying alongside them in Alderaan and you outliving them, carrying on with their legacy, Bail and Breha would  _ always  _ choose that you lived.”

Leia noticed that her lower lip had started to tremble; in that moment, she realized that the news about Vader had uncovered matters of the heart that she had struggled with in the aftermath of the battle of Yavin, and then buried deep inside of her so she wouldn’t ever have to feel again. She felt like that traumatized 19 year old girl again. “Some days, Mon, I wish that I had died with them. It’d hurt less than to be the only one left of my kin. It’d hurt less than becoming a martyr at the cost of my people. At the cost of everyone I loved.”

Leia paused, and, for the first time, looked deep inside Mon’s eyes.

“Had I died in Alderaan, I wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of knowing I am Darth Vader’s daughter.”

She was no longer ashamed of her crying, or of her red eyes. She was only ashamed of her identity, but, if she could pour it into Mon Mothma’s trust, then everything else became barely a detail. 

“I know it doesn’t make a difference, that I don’t hold Bail and Breha’s authority, but, I hope you’ll hear me,” she began, “Your progeny never mattered. You were loved either way. You’re Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan, and you’ve turned your grief into something beautiful: a better galaxy for all of those who suffered the same injustices that you did.”

Leia compressed her lips, doing her best to follow Mon’s word and hear what she had to say. She wished, with all her heart, that her suffering hadn’t been in vain, that she might have made a difference. However, it also pained her that she hadn’t been able to make the difference in time, so her mother and father and homeworld hadn’t needed to pay the ultimate price.

In her most vulnerable state, Leia shyly laid her head on Mothma’s shoulder. She had no defiance left to show, no strength left to bear. “I’m just so tired, Mon.”

Mon met her silent request for solace by kindly wrapping her arm around her back, and said nothing more.

Now, looking back, Leia was relieved that she had allowed her walls to come down and confessed her burdens to Mothma. Not only it felt like a weight lifted from her chest, she also saw that if the leader of the rebellion, the bearer of peace, didn’t hold her responsible for Darth Vader’s sins, then nobody else was entitled to.

Above all, their little heart-to-heart had opened a new relationship between them. Specially from her side, Leia realized that Mon Mothma had long stopped caring for her because of her status as Bail’s daughter; she cared for the person she was. Just Leia. If Leia hadn’t spent so much time belittling herself as such, maybe she would have been able to see for herself the esteem that Mothma saw in her.

She didn’t doubt for a second that the supreme leader had called her into her office to check on her mental state; before, she would have found it condescending, that she wasn’t treated as a respected high ranking general of the rebellion, only as a fragile, little girl. Now, after four years of prohibiting herself of displaying any emotion to the public eye, she learned that she didn’t mind being coddled from time to time.

After a brief adieu, Leia rose from her seat and started to walk away. They hadn’t had the chance to talk much before Luke’s sudden distress call, therefore, she hadn’t gotten the chance to say what she needed to say. She stopped before the door and humbly looked back at the leader. “Mon… I would like to apologize for the scene that I caused on your chamber a few days ago.”

Mon Mothma merely dismissed her apology with a wave of her hand. “There’s no need for that, Leia. I in no way wish to replace your parents, but I’m honored that you felt comfortable coming to me in your moments of need.”

Leia smiled tenderly — she would never have considered that Mothma had tried to overstep her boundaries. “I also apologize for falling asleep in your bed.”

“ _ That  _ is a crime I can’t forgive,” she replied with a stern look that soon dissolved into a sweet teasing, that Leia joined in with a chuckle. “I don’t mean to pry, but have you spoken with Han?”

She grimaced slightly. “Yes, I’ve told him.”

“How did he take it?”

Leia felt a wave of warmth thumping her. “Remarkably well. He simply shook it off.”

Mon looked relieved to hear that. “Han is a good person. He’s a smuggler, he holds people by their honor, not by their blood.”

She hoped it was enough implied that Leia Organa was the most honorable person she knew.

* * *

All things considered, Leia would like to scream at Luke.

Sure, he had been the one to send her a desperate message, therefore  _ he  _ should be doing the screaming. In fact, she was sure he  _ was  _ screaming at every other second that it took her to get there. However, it was nearly impossible for her to reach him when he had given her no destination.

It was a remarkably big hidden base; it would take her all day to check every corner for him, perhaps even more. But she was trying, checking every possible cramped space that came on her way.

All things considered, Leia would like to fulfill her role as his sister and threaten his life.

As soon as she’d left Mothma’s office, she sent him a message asking for his whereabouts. It had been nearly half an hour and he was still on radio silence, which meant either two things: it wasn’t really an emergency, and he had all but shut himself off the world, or it was already too late, and he was lying dead somewhere. Leia even tried to use the Force to reach him, like he had done for the first time in Bespin, so many moons before, but her abilities were still too raw for her to success.

Either that or he was  _ really  _ lying dead somewhere.

She wasn’t as scared as she was infuriated with him. Not only was her rational mind telling her that he was alright, she also felt it empirically. She couldn’t explain it, but, when Alderaan was destroyed, killing everyone she knew and loved with it, she felt a blow to her heart that stole her breath away. When Han was frozen in carbonite, she felt a cold breeze through her body that reminded her of the sweet kiss of death. Had something in fact happened to Luke, she would have felt it. She was sure she would.

A sense of relief came to her when she spotted a familiar silhouette in the far distance. Not necessarily the person she was looking for, but probably a gateway between the twins. She also realized she owed some offering of remorse, and automatically pushed Luke into second plan. Whatever it was, he could wait.

“Han!”

Although she was still remarkably distant from him, Han lifted his head from his affairs the moment he heard his name — like he had been waiting all day long for that one specific voice to call for him. It took him a mere of milliseconds to find her face in the crowd, and his urge to smile spoke louder than his actual smile.

He rubbed his hands against his pants, cleaning them of whatever dust that might have dirtied them. He waited next to the Falcon, trying to find an adequate posture; not too smug, not too uncomfortable either. However, he assumed he was leaning into the latter.

“Hey there, princess,” his eyes sparked at the sight of her close to him, but his tone contradicted his features — he was walking on eggshells. Because of  _ her _ , she knew, and felt guilty for it.

She offered him a small, thin smile as she stopped in front of him, her hand lingering over his arm but never once daring to touch him. “Is everything alright?”

He nodded, before tilting his head in the slightest. “You were the one who came to me, princess.”

“Right—” if he would  _ just  _ stop calling her that. “I’m looking for Luke. Have you seen him?”

Leia noticed a glimpse of sadness—jealousy, even?—at the realization that she hadn’t intentionally come to him, but it was gone too fast for her to process it. “Yeah, he left a while ago with some crazy old girl.”

She made a face, arching one of her brows at him, “Crazy old girl?”

“Hey, who am I to judge his preferences?!” Han argued, only to have her throw a disgusting look at him.

“I’m  _ asking  _ because he sent me a message, asking me to find him, and sent me into a goose chase when he didn’t tell me where he was.”

“Aw, look at you guys. Finally making up for the time you’ve lost together as children and playing hide and seek,” he said with a smirk, and the chuckle he received from her end seemed genuine. “She asked him for somewhere private to talk, so I assume he took her to the squadron’s lounge. Everyone’s on duty right now, he wouldn’t be bothered there.”

In her mind, Leia made it her next destination, but didn’t leave immediately. She would like to be in his presence just one more second. “Han… Are you busy tonight?”

“Hm, let’s see…” he didn’t let any signs of cracking show on his face. “I  _ do  _ have an appointment to comb Chewie’s hair. You know how grumpy he gets if he doesn’t look pleasant.”

“Well,” she prompted, “Do you think Chewie would mind if I came over to help? I’m afraid I’m far more skilled with a comb than you are.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that,” he agreed, doing his best to hide the happiness he felt at the mere idea of spending the evening next to her. “We’d love to.”

Her eyes glowed, and she felt a burden off her shoulders. Leia gave him one last grin, before turning on her heels and following back to the main issue on her hands. She took a few steps away when he called her.

“Hey, Leia?” she looked back at him, with some sort of hope that he had something else to say. Something important, something that mattered, something that would make her feel better — even if, from the way she had so badly treated him, she wasn’t deserving of it. Han didn’t fail to see the hope in her eyes; however, he froze, and could not decipher what she would like to hear. “Never mind. We’ll talk later, yeah?”

Leia agreed, a quick wave of disappointment flashing in her face — he saw it anyway. “We will.”

She walked away without any interruption.

* * *

Like Han instructed, Leia found Luke at the squadron’s lounge. When she first opened the door, she only saw him, and was ready to give him  _ hell  _ for both alarming her when he was seemingly alright, and for sending her on a counterproductive chase after him. However, as soon as she entered the room, she saw  _ her,  _ and her composure changed immediately.

She became as rigid as ice, and only spoke his name to ascertain her ground.

“Luke.”

“Leia…!” Luke said her name more eagerly than the usual — and she didn’t know it was possible. Luke possessed an annoying facility of seeming happy all the time, but the way she had just found him in… She doubted she had ever seen him like that before. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”

His tone suggested that he feared she wouldn’t, and Leia frowned at it. “Was there a reason I  _ wouldn’t  _ come?” she prompted with her austere manner. “Your message was quite adamant that I found you immediately.”

“Right, yes,” he mumbled, and she couldn’t possibly understand him. One moment, he was too excited to see her, the next, it seemed he had rather changed his mind. “I, huh… You should sit down, Leia.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” she replied coldly. She didn’t just take orders from anybody; her brother was barely an exception. “What is this about?”

In the course of their relationship, Leia had come to the perception that Luke often diverged his eyes to random spots whenever he was nervous, although she didn’t know if that happened when he interacted with anybody or just with herself. She assumed that, after years of royal training and always looking transparent, she resembled too authoritative and intimidating to his brining. Right there, his behavior didn’t drift from the normal. Still, she maintained her glare fixed on the two of them, both contemplating him and policing her.

The woman had been unusually edgy ever since Leia arrived, and Leia had seen the big smile and the happy traits fading away from her face as soon she entered the room. Her suspicion of Padmé never once left her side; it only enhanced as Padmé observed her taking the lead.

Padmé stood up, once she realized Leia wouldn’t follow instructions from her brother. That was the second most crucial moment of her life — she wouldn’t necessarily say that Luke would come first, but she had known about him for longer, and she had also found him first — therefore she wouldn’t allow Leia to have the higher ground. She had no idea how this would go, from Luke’s babblings, and she needed every leverage she could get.

“Leia,” she took careful steps ahead, and noticed the slightest shift in her expression at her sudden lack of formal talking. Padmé assumed that not that many people, rather than her friends, addressed her as normal human being, and Padmé didn’t think she had that many friends to begin with. She couldn’t tell whether that flinch had worked in her favor or not.

When Leia only stared at her, with those big, dark eyes, Padmé realized she had the word, and decided to begin from the beginning. “My name is Padmé Amidala Naberrie. I was born and raised in Naboo. At a very young age, I met a young boy from Tatooine, who would later grow up to become a Jedi Master. We fell in love, and our love led us to the sacred bonding of marriage.”

Leia remained apathetic at her story. Of course, it wasn’t her business to care for the story of other people; given her status as the last princess of Alderaan, she had far more pressing matters at hand.

However, that was all about to change when she learned that Padmé’s story was her story, too.

“His name was Anakin Skywalker.”

Just like that, Leia’s entire composure changed. Her eyes widened in a startle, her lower lip fell down and formed a gasp of horror. Her hands clenched in fists of hate as the color drained from her face. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t—

Luke snapped back into his enthusiastic self and jumped to his feet, quickly making his way next to Padmé. He could barely hold his excitement in. “Leia, she’s our mother! Our mother came back for us!”

Unexpectedly, Leia’s reaction toned down and took them by surprise. She relaxed her shoulders, placed her hands on her hips, and the most cynical laughter escaped her lips.

“You know what, you’ve got me. Well done, Luke, I give it to you. I didn’t know we were pulling pranks at each other, but I’m actually amazed at this little performance. You should consider enrolling in drama school once all of this is over. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do, such as  _ running  _ this place.”

Padmé had to fight the urge to roll her eyes; why did  _ everyone  _ think she was joking about this? What kind of person did they view her as? She would  _ never  _ make fun of the twins’ suffering for her own amusement.

Thankfully, Luke spoke for her while Padmé calmed her nerves. “Leia. This isn’t a joke. We took a DNA test, we can prove it. It’s real, Leia! It’s  _ real _ .”

Leia’s vision was foggy;  _ no,  _ that couldn’t be happening. Hadn’t she had enough? Couldn’t she get a  _ break _ ? Honestly, she just wanted to lie down next to Han’s body at night and have a good night of sleep; free of nightmares, free of ghosts from the past, free of problems of tomorrow, free of mothers coming back from the dead—

Hence why the only answer that she managed to give was, “No, thank you,” before turning on her back and leaving them without a single glance behind.

“She—what…?” Padmé was so aghast at that turn of events that her brain stopped processing at all. She simply stood there, her eyes fixed at the silhouette of her daughter’s ghost. Numb, lacking the comprehension and the mental effort to try and comprehend. It was all just so messed up.

Next to her, Luke shared her sentiments. Although part of him already knew Leia’s reaction would be as bad as it could be, he had never expected her to storm out. She was a  _ princess,  _ he didn’t think princesses were allowed to storm out. “I…”

Padmé lowered her head at last, feeling her eyes stung. She didn’t know why she was so hurt; Leia didn’t even  _ know  _ her, there was no reason why Leia should just accept a stranger taking over her life. Still, it hurt. She had spent years picturing what her life would be like had she had a daughter to spoil, to love and to cherish, and she had spent the last two hours longing to be reunited with that daughter.

Maybe Luke’s spontaneous acceptance had gotten her hopes far too high. Even if he had already warned her; if one brother had graciously welcomed her, then why couldn’t the sister? Which she realized was so wrong of her, because she couldn’t expect her two children to be exactly the same. Still, it  _ hurt _ .

“I’m sorry, I…” Luke was so lost he struggled to form full sentences. “I’ll go talk to her.”

“No, Luke,” Padmé’s voice was small, but it still held conviction. “She has no obligation to let me in. We can’t expect that from her.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to being unnecessarily mean to you,” Luke argued, and Padmé would say he was almost as hurt as her. “Wait for me here, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Padmé became even more conflicted as Luke pressed a tender kiss to her forehead and left room.

* * *

Leia had never ran so fast her entire life.

Sure, she had done a lot of running in her life. Rescuing Han and Luke after their failed rescue of hers on the Death Star; running towards Boba Fett’s ship in Bespin before he left with a frozen Han; running after stormtroopers on the moon of Endor. Most of those events had her life depending on how fast and how far her small limbs could get her — there were lots of disadvantages to being too short in moments of life and death, but adrenaline would usually make up for that.

She was running. As fast as she could, not caring about the side-eyes that people would throw at her. As fast as she could, trying her best not to trip on her own girly dress. As fast as she could, using up all of her storage of energy.

She wasn’t running on adrenaline; her fuel was pure, legitimate panic. She ran so fast she could barely feel the oxygen fulfilling her lungs; she ran so fast she barely felt the need to breathe. She just needed to run, as far away as she could.

She just wanted to run back home. Run against the strings of time and reach Alderaan again, one last time. One final time.

She needed to run until the found her mother and her father again. She wanted to run until she was back in the safety of their protection, far away from Vader, far from the war, far from all the trauma it had brought her.

She would run, until her own legs collapsed beneath her and she admitted defeat.

“Leia!” a voice from very far behind called for her. She ignored it; it was low enough for her to deny that she had heard it. She ignored  _ him _ ; if she just ran fast enough, she would find a hiding spot and she would be safe from him and his naïve, probing eyes.

Even if his eyes would haunt her forever. Those big, hopeful eyes, that sparkled with life when he had told her about their  _ mother,  _ praying that she would join him in his happiness.

“ _ Leia _ !”

Luke was out of breath by the time he reached her; he didn’t know he had it in him to run so fast. He hadn’t assumed she would be able to outrun him, either,  _ specially  _ when her legs were so small in comparison. Hadn’t he had received a little hand from the Force, he would have lost her for sure. For a brief second, he was glad that Leia remained untrained and he still held the title of the last Jedi. 

His presence behind her was wholly ignored, and, in his despair not to lose her  _ again,  _ Luke pressed his hand to her shoulder to stop her, and his attempt was poorly received by her.

At his unwelcome touch, Leia turned around with eyes of anger. She was ready to snap at him, to slap at his hand to push him away, until she saw  _ him,  _ and remembered it was  _ him.  _ She repressed all the anger inside of her into a low, but stern voice, “Don’t,” a pause, “Touch,” a pause, “Me.”

He immediately retrieved, apologizing. He would think that after putting him back on his place, she would walk away from him again. Thankfully, for him, she didn’t. 

They were standing in the middle of the hall, surrounded by several different ranks of people, standing a few feet apart. Luke was grateful for their surroundings; Leia was less likely to yell at him if they were in public, although that had never really stopped her from causing a scene when Han was getting on her nerves — which just happened to be most of the time.

However, her treatment towards him had always been different. Even at the beginning of their relationship, she had always protected him, specially when  _ he  _ was trying to protect her — because, to her eyes, she didn’t need anyone to protect her. Usually, she was right.

He just hoped that moment wouldn’t be the one to have her lose it at him.

“Leia, please—”

“I am  _ not  _ interested,” her anger, although kept to herself, was so loud it was bothering him. Despise his presence in the Force, he had yet to understand most of that anger was disguising the fear she was feeling.

Luke ran his hand through his messy hair, sighing heavily. For a brief moment, he regretted signing up for this conversation. He should have listened to Padmé and allowed her the time to cool off. But he was there, now, and she was listening.

“You, huh,” he mumbled a lot, “You were quite rude to Padmé.”

Of all the things— _ all the things _ —he could have said, he decided to lead with that; Leia looked at him with pure disbelief. “You’ve clearly never had anyone being rude to you.”

“Yes, I have,” he all but cried. “I’m friends with  _ Han _ .”

Maybe he had thrown that comment to ease her mood; however, it brought him the opposite effect, as she became overly protective of Han. “Han’s an idiot. He isn’t rude.”

He wrinkled his nose, disapproving of his poor remark. “Well, neither have you. You’re a  _ princess.  _ No one has ever thrown a mean word at you.”

Her eyes widened and she fumed. Sometimes, Luke’s naivety was borderline ignorance. Sure, she had been treated like a goddess at the court of Alderaan, but she hadn’t stepped in Alderaan in a  _ long  _ time. She would never go there again. And, even before she had been stolen of her home, she knew what it was like to be verbally hurt. She had been the youngest senator at the Imperial Senate, a pretty face in a pretty dress for others to remark on. She had been held captive at the Death Star, where they had used every last resource to break her spirits. She had been chained to a disgusting Hutt crime lord, whose only interest was harassing her. Above all, she was a female leader in a rebellion predominated by men.

Leia knew  _ perfectly well  _ what was like to have a mean word thrown at face, or at her back. For her own sake, however, she always chose to ignore it.

Just like, for his own sake, she chose to ignore  _ him.  _

“Just let me go, Luke.”

“Leia, please,” he begged. “That’s our  _ mother  _ there. How can you walk away?”

Leia rolled her eyes until they disappeared. “I already  _ have  _ a mother.”

Luke was starting to lose his patience — how could she be so  _ blind  _ to such a wonderful thing happening to them? How could she be so  _ cold  _ to neglect the person that had given life to her? “No, you don’t. Your mother died years ago. This is your chance of having a mother’s embrace again, Leia, and you’re throwing it away…!”

Her eyes stung. Before, her anger was directed solemnly at the stray woman trying to make a way into her life; now, her animosity was aimed at him. “Just because my mother died it doesn’t mean she stopped being my mother. Just because my mother _died_ it doesn’t mean she can ever be replaced. I want _my_ mother’s embrace back, not some stranger’s who randomly decided to appear in our lives. When I say I want nothing to do with her, I mean it.”

Luke crossed his arms, making himself look taller than he was — it felt strange, because Leia  _ always  _ looked like the taller person in the room, and she looked so  _ small  _ at that moment. He understood his words had hurt her; if only she could understand she was hurting him, too. “I think you’re being an idiot. You’re going to regret this when you drive her away for good and you’re all on your own, again.”

Her heart throbbed in her throat; she hadn’t felt this bad in a long time, and she had been having bad day after bad day ever since Endor. “So you’re going to leave me, too?”

She didn’t know why she was so surprised at his insinuation. Everyone she ever loved, left her. She loved her parents and they were reduced to space dust. She loved Han and he had been frozen in carbonite. Everyone that ever loved  _ her _ , left; by the natural order of things, Luke should be no exception.

Luke simply threw his hands in the air. “You’re throwing her away. What’s stopping you from throwing  _ me  _ away when you realize you’re too good to have a brother as well?”

It hurt. Being left behind, hurt. Being discarded like she never meant nothing, hurt. She should have known better; she should have never had allowed herself to be part of someone else’s life again. It was easier to be alone than to be hurt again.

But as conflicted as she was inside, her face and her voice showed the complete opposite. “Watch me leave you  _ right now _ , then.”

That time, she didn’t run. She held her head high as she turned around and walked away, boring her usual grace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, please don't hurt me. i KNOW this wasn't Leia's reaction that you were all waiting for, but... i had to do it. please don't hurt me.
> 
> either way, if you'll keep in mind that your comments and reviews absolutely inspire me to keep working on this fic, and, idk, feel like leaving a little comment here, you'll be making this writer the happiest person on earth hehe


	7. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for taking longer than usual to update! but ao3 was under maintenance and I didn't want to risk the update emails not getting to you guys!
> 
> anyway, you guys have taken Leia's reaction so well and your comments made me so happy! hope this next chapter won't disappoint!

It was night, and Padmé found herself at the private chamber that Luke had provided for her; apparently, those were all already occupied, leaving her only the option of sleeping in the girls’ common room— which she, really, had no problem with — but when you were Luke Skywalker, nothing seemed impossible.

Once he had made it back from his talk with his sister, he looked agitated and distracted, no matter how much he tried to hide it — his feelings were as transparent as his perception to others’ feelings. Padmé had no doubt that his conversation with Leia would be a disaster, but it seemed to have gone far worse than either of them could have predicted. 

Far worse that he was willing to tell her.

“Leia just needs some time alone,” he had told her, and she respected his silence. She wouldn’t expect him to completely trust her in a matter of hours, to bend to his knees in front of her and love her unconditionally just because she had given birth to him — although he was surely acting that way — neither would she want to come between brother and sister, and potentially taint a good, healthy relationship — even if she  _ felt  _ like that was exactly what she had done.

Seconds after he had come back to her, with a weak smile on the corner of his lips, he had apologized and said he would like to retire, needing to meditate. Meditation didn’t come to her as a strange thing, she had often seen Anakin doing it whenever he was troubled; what came to her unexpectedly, however, was how retrieved he had become, so unlike the eager boy that had first left the room.

Of course, it was late, he was probably both physically and emotionally drained. Padmé chose to believe that, instead. He kissed her in the cheek goodnight, and gave the direction and the code for the chamber he had gotten her. She barely had the chance to thank him before he disappeared again.

For a long time, she remained sat at the couch, with her head resting on the palm of her hand — thinking. Simply taking the time to breathe and think, for she hadn’t had time for either of those ever since first encountering Luke. Sure, she had been briefly left alone when he went after Leia, but she had been so anxious worrying about  _ their  _ confrontation that she couldn’t bring herself to neither think of breathe.

During her brief  _ meditation _ , she came to one conclusion: she was no Jedi, she couldn’t find some deep voice inside of her to talk to. What she needed was  _ someone  _ to talk to.

Hence why she suddenly found herself dragging a very annoyed—annoying—Twi’lek by the arm throughout the corridors of the secret base.

Padmé had first tried to seek her at the girls’ dormitory, and, despite the great amount of people there, it hadn’t been hard to spot her. That tall blued being in the corner of the room, isolated from all the little social gatherings, stuck out in the crowd.

Ameera, obviously, hadn’t been all too excited to receive a visitor. How genuine had been her reaction, Padmé couldn’t tell, neither wanted to. Padmé was told that her presence there was ruining Ameera’s supposed cold personality, and Ameera would thank her to leave her alone again.

Padmé paid her no attention, instead yanking the blanket from over her legs and giving her light smacks until she was on her feet. Ameera uttered words of discontent the entire journey, and that surprised no one. 

Her discontent lasted up to the moment they reached their final destination. There, it became pure indignation. “This is so unfair. I’ve been giving my life to the cause for _years_ now, and I get stuck in a room full of other noisy people, meanwhile you’ve been here for a _day,_ without having provided anything for the rebellion, and you already have your own mansion? I hate nepotism.”

“I gave  _ birth  _ to the Jedi who killed Palpatine and Vader. Shouldn’t that be contribution enough?” Padmé said with a stern face, but it soon faded away. “You can have it. I don’t want it, really.”

Rather than taking in her offer, Ameera settled on studying the room. It was tiny, having nothing more than a bed, a trunk to store belongings, a working desk and a chair. The room was bare, lacking any feelings of a home, but it possessed one key element: isolation; most people on the base would  _ kill  _ for one good night of sleep without listening to someone else’s snore.

Ameera claimed the chair as her own, bringing one leg up. In her lack of mannerism, she resembled too much a grown tomboy. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Having thrown her duffel bag to the trunk, Padmé simply collapsed on her butt to the bed. The mattress was hard,  _ too  _ hard for what she was used to, but that was the least of her concerns. “I need you to keep a secret.”

“Let me guess,” Ameera faked surprise and secrecy all too well. “Luke Skywalker  _ is  _ your son.”

Padmé fought the urge to roll her eyes. She would like the Twi’lek to refrain herself from mocking everything for one second, but kept her annoyance to herself. “Yes, ‘Meera. He is my son. A simple blood test confirmed as much.”

With a wicked smile and a loud clap of her hands, Ameera cheered. “Ha! Now that mother and son have been reunited, I conclude that my insight will no longer be needed.”

As a senator, Padmé was required to remain patient at the face of an adversary at all costs. As a farmer, she realized her innate patience had expired. “You act like you don’t care, but I think you do, Ameera. You’re desperate to have someone care for you again, but you’re so scared of being left alone once more that loneliness is all you’ve got.”

From delight, her face turned into a pointed stare. “You didn’t call me here to lecture about my ways of living.”

Padmé couldn’t tell whether Ameera was drawing a line at the sermon she had just received, or simply throwing aside any potential of showing she  _ cared.  _ Sighing loudly, Padmé let it go. “That isn’t the secret I need you to keep.”

“Oh, no?” Ameera arched her brow, “So you wouldn’t mind if I told my pals of this little reunion?!”

“Ameera—”

“Lucky for you I don’t have any ‘pals’” she made quotation marks with her hands.

“You can’t possibly pride yourself for having no one,” Padmé argued.

Indifferent as always, Ameera simply made random gestures with her fingers in the air. “Not all people have this constant need of yours of being liked.”

“I don’t thrive on being liked by everyone,” she said, “But I do find my strength on the bond I grow with those I love.”

“Oh, that much is clear,” Ameera pointed out, “The Padmé I met pre-Luke is very different from this pos-Luke Padmé. I like new you better, though. She’s more confident and way less quirky.”

“At least I don’t thrive on being an  _ ass  _ to other people.”

Ameera curved her inner lip down to pretend she was hurt, but it soon faded away into a scoff. “You flatter me, Padmé.”

Tiredly, Padmé threw herself back until she was lying on her back, without any posture. Her arms fell to the sides of her head, widely spread across the mattress, and she mumbled beneath her breath, “Why do I even try.” 

There was silence for a moment, and then a heavy body falling to her side on the bed. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

Padmé turned her head on her way. “Is that a compliment?”

“I wouldn’t push it,” her shoulders went up and down with enough force to move the mattress.

Padmé blinked blankly. “Why do I even  _ bother _ .”

“Because you like me,” she stated with such causality that it made her remark seem obvious.

“It’s the reciprocity that I worry about.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?!”

Making a face, she conceded. Despite being dragged out of bed, Ameera was, indeed, there. With no attempts of evasing, rather than a few comments. And comments didn’t count as actions of intention — especially when they came from her mind rooted with satire.

“So, back to your deep, dark secret,” Ameera carried on, once she didn’t get an immediate response from the female human. “You’ve met Luke, and you didn’t like him.”

“That is far from the truth,” Padmé assured, eyes fixed at the ceiling. “I fell in love with him the moment we connected.”

Although Padmé couldn’t see, Ameera grimaced, “That’s  _ disgusting _ .”

“What? No—damn it, Ameera, you know exactly what I meant,” she grunted, her eyes squeezed and her brows knitted together.

Ameera chuckled. “You make funny faces when you’re annoyed. They’re a sight for sore eyes.”

At that comment, Padmé had to refrain herself from making yet another funny face, understanding she hadn’t been too successful from the sound of Ameera’s laughter that followed. “I can’t help it. You’re a very annoying person. I’ve had more patience dealing with politicians that I’ve had dealing with you. A common Twi’lek.”

“Politicians, huh?” Ameera hummed in curiosity; Padmé mentally damned herself for accidentally letting a bit of her past slip through her lips. “Do go on, Mrs Padmé Big Shot.”

She wrinkled her nose, “Can we please focus at the issue at hands, here?”

If only to spite her, Ameera repeated, “ _ Do  _ go on, Mrs Padmé Big Shot.”

Making the wise choice of ignoring her, Padmé closed her eyes to replay all the events of her day in her mind. It had been a long day, and it had gave her so much more than she had come here expecting for.

“Turns out,” she started, carefully, “I didn’t give birth to a son. I gave birth to  _ twins _ .”

At the small confession, Ameera immediately raised herself on her elbows to properly look at Padmé. The looks on the Twi’lek’s face were divided into shock and amusement. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Once again, Padmé sighed. “I wish I were.”

Even though Padmé showed no intentions of moving, Ameera properly sat, with her legs crossed in front of her. She didn’t expect the human female to mimic her actions, but that was a conversation Ameera definitely wanted to hold face to face. “And you didn’t  _ know _ ?”

“I… I didn’t know…!”

“How could you have not known?”

She pouted her lips. “We… My husband and I, we wanted to be surprised.”

Ameera scoffed sardonically, “That would have been one  _ hell  _ of a surprise.”

“It  _ is _ ,” Padmé said with a burden. “Of all the things I expected to happen when I arrived here, a second daughter was  _ not  _ one of them.”

She listened with interest. “I didn’t know Luke to have a twin sister. And people around here  _ talk _ .”

Once realizing she had sulked far too long, Padmé joined the Twi’lek on her sitting position. She held her gaze strongly, no matter how tempted she was to simply look down. “From what I’ve gathered, they have just learned it themselves, and only those close to them are aware.”

“Funny. You spend your entire life looking for a family and then you get a sibling and a mother all in one go,” Ameera said, although she despised the idea. For her, one set of parents and one sister was already more than enough. “So, who is this mysterious child of yours?”

Her eyes flicked with hesitation. “You won’t believe me.”

“Why?” Ameera knitted her eyebrows with a frown, “Are you telling me they’re  _ also  _ someone extra important that has the fate of the galaxy at the palm of their hands?”

Like a spoiled child, Padmé rested her chin between her knees and pressed each hand to one of her own cheeks. “Maybe…?”

“ _ Damn,  _ girl, what kind of sorcery did you pull during your pregnancy?”

_ Jedi sorcery,  _ she would like to snap, but they weren’t yet at a point in their friendship where Padmé could pour her entire story out. Perhaps, they would never get there. 

“Don’t make me beg for her name, Padmé.”

Her hands traveled to the front of her face, and she was hiding herself completely behind them. “Princess Leia Organa.”

She expected a loud laughter to come, maybe even some mockery, or a very sarcastic comment. However, she had not anticipated deafening silence. Padmé opened her fingers just enough to peak at Ameera’s expression, and she found only raw surprise there

Ameera was so surprised, that, for the first time in her life, she had nothing to say.

Smiling shyly, Padmé lowered her guard, as well as dropping her hands and her knees back to the mattress. “I know. I was just as surprised as you are.”

Ameera swallowed hard. “A little poetic, if you think about it. The princess lost her entire family on Alderaan only to find her biological brother and mother later on.”

Although she nodded, Padmé wished it were that simple. For losing her family, Leia would most likely see her as someone trying to replace those who raised her — even though she had no intention of so — and would, rightfully, shut Padmé down.

Ameera leaned back, finally having coming off her initial reaction. “Don’t worry,  _ your highness.  _ Your secret is safe with me.”

“Oh,” her stare fell to her lap, and she started tracing random lines over the sheets with the tip of her finger. “That’s not my secret.”

“Of course it’s not,” she all but rolled her eyes. “It wouldn’t be you if there wasn’t the most complex story behind your secret.”

Padmé pouted. “You’ve known me  _ for a day _ .”

She simply threw her hands in the air, “You have yet to prove me wrong.”

Although her grim remained, Padmé was obliged to concede. That day was the worst possible day for anyone to be meeting her; she was too caught up on her own issues to act as the person that she used to be. She almost felt sorry for Ameera for being stuck in her mess. Almost.

“I know that you’re busy  _ thinking,  _ or whatever else you do inside this pretty little head of yours,” Ameera grunted, “But I’d appreciate if you’d stop the suspense.  _ Some  _ of us have to wake up early in the morning.”

“Right, sorry,” Padmé quickly snapped out of her daze. She straightened her back, and begun to tell the secret she had yet to forgive herself for. “I’ve met Leia— _ Princess Leia _ —today,” she quickly corrected her choice of vocative. She didn’t know who Leia was in her life, therefore she was confused on how to refer to her. “Before I met Luke and learned that she was his sister.”

Ameera hummed, waiting.

“Remember that the first thing you’ve asked me was if I hadn’t liked Luke?” she spoke with shame, and, although Ameera nodded, she didn’t seem to read between the lines. “Well… I didn’t  _ like  _ her.”

“Oh,” it took her a few extra seconds to fully comprehend what she had heard. “ _ Oh.  _ That’s, huh, annoying.”

_ Annoying.  _ Padmé would have laughed at her choice of word if it didn’t fit in so perfectly. Padmé was  _ annoyed  _ that her first interaction with her daughter had left a bad impression of the young girl, as well as the feelings of guilt waving over her. “You called her  _ the ice princess _ , and even though I reprimanded you for it before, that was the only thought on my mind as I spoke to her. Our interaction, as brief as it might have been, got me thinking that Leia Organa was someone I would like to have on my side, not as my enemy, but I wouldn’t benefit from befriending her.”

Although she was no Jedi, Ameera could read from the lines on Padmé’s face that she was beating herself up. “Look, Padmé, that’s just how the princess  _ is _ . She’s not warm to anyone, why would she be to you, a complete stranger? You’ve said it yourself, she probably does it out of obligation, not of character. Don’t hold yourself accountable for thoughts that she couldn’t even hear.”

“That’s the thing,” Padmé threaded carefully, with a hoarse voice, “If her twin brother is Force sensitive, she most likely is, too. As untrained as she might be, chances are she knew  _ exactly  _ of my animosity towards her.”

Ameera grimaced. As ignorant as she was to the ways of the Force, she assumed there was accuracy to Padmé’s words. After all, she had seen things with her own eyes. “Well, what’s done is done. You can’t take that back, so you should focus on aiming towards a better impression of hers. Did you meet her again?”

“Yes,” she said, “She knows.”

She acknowledged with a nod. “How did that go?”

“Well…” Padmé tried to come up with the best way to describe their encounter, and learned it to be the rawest she had to give. “Princess Leia hates me.”

Ameera pressed her lips hardly together, almost until they lost their color. She wanted to say something reassuring, but she had gotten in enough fights with her sister during their time together, she had told Duaa enough times, after her parents died, that she  _ hated  _ her — those couldn’t be taken back, even if they weren’t meant. They  _ hurt,  _ no matter what. “She didn’t say those words  _ exactly _ .”

“No,” Padmé reasoned, “What she said was even worse.”

She wiggled her hand, waiting.

“I told her I was her mother, and she replied, ‘no, thank you’.”

“ _ Ouch _ ,” Ameera wrinkled her nose. “It’s hard to go back from that.”

Padmé nodded sadly. “I don’t know what to do next!” She cried, her voice filled with despair. “Because Luke… Luke accepted me. He wants me in his life, but how can I stay here with him while ignoring  _ her  _ altogether?”

“Well, do you want to ignore her?”

“No!” her voice was becoming higher pitched by the second, “The moment I learned of Luke, I wanted to be part of his life. The moment I learned of  _ Leia,  _ my heart begged for her, too.”

“There you have it, then,” she pointed out what Padmé had yet to realize for herself. “You two can grow to like each other. What matters is that you found each other.”

“‘Meera, she wants nothing to do with me. How can I stay and start a relationship when I couldn’t  _ respect  _ her enough to walk away?”

With every bit of kindness inside of her, Ameera reached out and held her hand. “You’ll figure something out. You’ve fought against politicians, what is some petty family drama compared to that?”

Padmé laughed, and it was her first genuine moment of ease of the night. “You know, I’ve never told you  _ that _ .”

Ameera merely shot her shoulders up. “It doesn’t surprise me. You smell of important people.”

“I don’t smell—I’m nobody important, alright?” she argued.

“Maybe not anymore, but not just  _ anybody  _ gets to birth Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa,” Ameera said, serious — she might just as well believe her own words. “That kind of magnificence… It runs in the family. It has too.”

Padmé smiled tenderly at her; very rarely would Ameera speak from her heart, and she appreciated those little moments the most. “You’re magnificent too, Ameera.”

“No, I’m not,” she simply shook it off. “But thanks for lying.”

The senator bit down on her lips — she realized, for the first time, that Ameera had no one to give her little praises. She had no one to keep her spirits high, in the midst of war, and Padmé felt so bad for not realizing it sooner. She wanted to tell the Twi’lek that she was an amazing being, that she mattered, that despite her flaws she was still a hero of the rebellion, but she knew Ameera would immediately dismiss any compliment—

“You should stay here.”

The idea came to her on a whim;  _ of course,  _ she should have thought of it sooner. It was her chance of repaying everything Ameera had done for her in their one day of friendship. No matter how little time they had known each other, Padmé felt right about this. And her instincts almost never misguided her.

In return, Ameera only frowned at her. “What the heck are you talking about?!”

“You should stay  _ here _ ,” Padmé repeated, because her words couldn’t be clearer. “There’s an extra cot under the bunk. It’s a big room to accommodate both of us, and even though I’ll still be here, you might just get the sense of privacy that you yearned for.”

Her face remained the same. “Why are you doing this?”

“You’ve earned your right of not being lonely in a crowd, and not being alone in your privacy,” she said. “If you’ll just let me, I would like to call you my friend.”

“But why?!” she repeated, incredulous. “You don’t know me. I’ve been nothing but mean to you the entire day. I don’t deserve your kindness, or your magnitude. Trust me, you’re better off without me attached to your reputation.”

“You’re right, I don’t know you,” Padmé agreed, “But I trust  _ you.  _ You’ve cared for me in my moments of need, and I believe our true nature reflects on our actions in the times that we see someone down, and we lend our hands to them. You didn’t turn your back on me, and that made all the difference.”

Ameera looked down, and made herself very small — unlike her usual tenacious demeanor. “You don’t understand, Padmé.”

Padmé brought their hands together. “I will, if you talk to me.”

Abruptly, she pulled away. Padmé winced at the suddenness of her actions, but kept her distance. “Why should I let myself rely on you if you’re only going to leave in the end?! Being the one who always gets left behind  _ hurts.  _ I’m sick of it, Padmé.”

She understood it all too well. For twenty-three years, she believed that Anakin and their child—children—had died, leaving her all on her own; and for those first years of loneliness, she would have given anything to join their in their rest. She had never wanted to die, but, sometimes, death came as a source of relief.

“You shouldn’t let your fear of sadness isolate you from the possibility of happiness,” Padmé reasoned. “Besides, I’m your friend. And I don’t ever leave those that I care for behind.”

Ameera scoffed; it was a bold statement, considering that, although unintentional, that had been exactly what Padmé had done to her children. Still, her voice was small and cracking, “You promise?”

“I do.”

That night, when the lights were out and darkness prevailed, Ameera pulled the necklace chain from under her tee and held it tightly, a single tear running down her face.

* * *

Luke Skywalker had been walking in circles around his private chamber for what seemed an eternity.

His mind had more thoughts than it could bear, and he was too agitate to meditate and organize his feelings. Instead, he settled on walking aimless around the room, keeping his pacing at the same speed of his trail of thoughts. He would do it until he drained himself of his energies and dropped dead to bed to sleep a slumber full of dreams.

His soul was conflicted; he didn’t know what path to take next. He had so many questions — questions that  _ she  _ could answer — but he also had too much fear holding him back. 

He trusted Padmé with his  _ entire life  _ — he didn’t think that it was too soon to be making allegations of the sort. That strange woman was the solemn reason he was alive, therefore he didn’t consider himself too bold for alleging his life to her; it was  _ the least  _ he could do. She had come back to him, she had traveled all across the galaxy for him, and that was more than any one who also claimed they loved him had done.

Ever since his childhood days, he wondered about the identity of birth parents. Not because he didn’t love his Uncle Owen and his Aunt Beru, but there was a yearning inside of him to understand whom he was, and where he had come from. They didn’t speak much of Anakin Skywalker, other than that he had died in the Clone Wars — now, Luke wondered if they knew the truth about Darth Vader; probably not — but they never spoke of  _ her.  _ They would say they didn’t know of her, and Luke never doubted of their honesty, but he once would have given  _ anything  _ to put a name to the face he’d see on his dreams.

Now, she had come back him, and he was  _ afraid.  _ Afraid to let her in only so she would leave him again, like everybody did. He had a home until Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru were unfairly taken from him; he found a father who selflessly died for him; he conceived a sacred bound with the twin sister he never knew he had who—

_ No _ ; he didn’t allow himself to go there. Leia meant everything to him, he couldn’t afford to lose her. Losing her meant losing half of himself, and his heart tore in half at the mere thought. 

Yet, things had been said, and he feared for their relationship. In his year of training the paths of the Jedi, his main lesson had been to always remain patient. Mostly, he thought he had conquered aptitude, but his confrontation with Leia, while he battled inside of him the fear of losing the two women who so unexpectedly came to his life, proved him wrong.

He had hurt Leia; he had asked of her more than she had in herself to give, and when she failed to provide him what he needed, he gave her an ultimatum. He threatened to leave her if she couldn’t accept Padmé, and he had hurt her. Luke had been too angry in the spur of the moment, and he hadn’t meant it, but he had said it, and he couldn’t take it back.

He could only pray that Leia would forgive him.  _ Heck— _ he didn’t even need her forgiveness, so long as he still had  _ her _ .

He was conflicted; what if he had to choose? What if, because of his mistakes, Leia would force him to choose between her and Padmé, exactly like he had done to her? Of course, that seemed so unlikely, but Leia was capable of extremes when she was angry. She almost reminded him of—

_ No;  _ he would never make such a comparison. Princess Organa was the epitome of all good things. Above all, she had always been good to  _ him.  _ When he had seen Ben die, she had sat by his side and held him gracefully, even though she had just lost her entire home and family. When he learned of Vader being his father and lost his hand, she offered him comfort and words of encouragement, even though she had just watched the person she loved all but die in front of her. Always good, always kind.

And he had repaid her like that.

He was afraid; afraid like he had never been before. Not even confronting Vader or Palpatine had him so afraid. Had either of them struck him down, Luke would have accepted his fate — he would have fought, and he would have lost, and somebody else— _ his twin sister— _ would save the galaxy in his place. This, however, felt much more personal. Losing Leia, or Padmé, would leave him a sense of absence and hurt he doubted he would be able to move past.

“Ben, what should I do?” Luke cried loudly, to nobody, nowhere. He needed guidance, and he had no one to turn to. “How do I make amends with my sister? With my  _ mother _ ?”

Silence. The worst silence he had ever endured.

“Did you know about her, Ben?” he carried on; he wouldn’t be defeated by reticence. He needed help, before he made things worse — and it seemed to be in his nature to do just that. “Did you know Padmé was alive? Why was I taken from her?”

His desire of having a mother, since the day he was born, came from an innate need of being loved as a son, not as a nephew, or a foster child. He didn’t think that the Lars hadn’t loved him, but they loved him in a different way. They provided him a good and stable house, they gave him food, and a safe place to grow. However, he had never  _ belonged.  _ Not to Tatooine, not to the Lars name.

Finding Leia, and finding Padmé, gave him a sense of belonging to someone that he hadn’t known before. It made him feel warm, and accepted, and he never wanted to let go of that.

He just prayed that Leia would forgive him, and allow herself to feel like she belonged somewhere, again.

“Ben…” tiredly, he fell down to his bunker, his chin sinking into his palms. His urge to rush to Leia, and drop to his knees in front of her, and hug her legs until his devotion to their blood was clear enough, was tormenting him, and it took him all of his strength to remain there,  _ alone,  _ when he knew that, virtually, he would never be alone again.

“How do I make this  _ right,  _ Ben?”

The silence haunted him.

That night, when he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of two little kids running free in a vast green field, and the face of an angel guarding them.

* * *

Han Solo knocked incessantly at Leia’s door, waiting for something to happen.  _ Anything.  _ His heart throbbed hard in his throat, and he couldn’t ease his own nerves.

He was  _ worried _ ; terrified. His anxiety only grew by the lack of answer from the other side of the door. And his fist pounded so heavily against the metal of the door that it would be impossible for him to be unheard.

Leia had told him she would come by the Falcon after the working hours, and he waited for her. He began waiting for her the moment she announced her visit. Of course, she didn’t have to ask him to come, his ship was always welcome to her; he just hoped she knew that. However, knowing that she would stop by gave him enough time to tidy the place around, and even cook her something for dinner.

Han Solo waited for her, for  _ hours,  _ until it became late even for her late hours. Dinner had gone cold, and his eyes had grown sore from staring at the clock in the wall, waiting for her. Something  _ had  _ to have happened; Leia Organa never broke her word, and if something else had come up, she would have told him about her sudden unavailability. 

Something had happened, and he had to find her, otherwise he would drive himself insane.

So, there he stood, outside her private chamber; one hand rhythmically slamming the door, the other holding a small casserole with the cold dinner he had made. 

“Leia! Open up!” he yelled, for what seemed the thousandth time; his throat was starting to inch. By now, he had done every weird thing that had come across his mind, from laying on the ground to peek under the door, to pressing his ear against the surface of the door to try and hear any sound coming from inside. He had been unsuccessful at his every attempt so far. “Leia, if you don’t open this door, I will come in without your permission!”

Han had the code to her chamber; of course he did, she had given it to him on the first day they settled on the Coruscant base. Small gestures of trust. Still, he avoided using it at every cost, unless Leia had explicitly told him to — and that day had yet to come. However, he wouldn’t hesitate to use if he feared something had happened, after she had gone radio silent.

He waited a few more seconds, before deciding he had had enough. He’d given her the chance to come forward, to at least prove that she was still  _ alive _ . She hadn’t given him anything, so he tapped the code and the door slid open.

The chamber was dark; if it weren’t for the light coming in from the hall, it wouldn’t be possible to see anything inside. Even so, he could not see  _ her _ .

Han took a careful step inside, unfamiliar to the scheming of the room. He hadn’t gone there enough times to have it memorized, and there were no guarantees that he wouldn’t trip and fall and cause even a greater disturbance.

He crossed the chamber until he reached the desk he knew resided in the corner of the room. He placed the casserole there and swept the furniture until the found a lamp, and flicked it on. Then, he allowed himself to look for Leia.

Turning around, he found her in her bed, and a tight sensation came from his heart. He felt bad for disturbing her, for breaking her peace, but, at the same time, he was relieved to see her that, at first glance, she was  _ alright. _

Han walked towards her, unsure if she had noticed his presence or not. He knew she wasn’t sleeping; no, she still wore her day clothes, she wasn’t under the duvet, her body was tense, and her breathing was controlled. It seemed that she had simply dropped herself there, and not moved ever since.

Rather than making his presence noticeable, Han sat by the edge of the bed, careful to keep his distance. The mattress sank underneath him, and that provided all the movement from her.

“I was knocking, sweetheart,” Han said, breaking the comfortable silence wrapped around her. He didn’t look at her face; instead, he kept his eyes glued at the metal wall, like something far more interesting was happening there.

“Were you? I didn’t hear,” she said, so naturally it was convincing. Leia was good at lying — too good — and, under any other circumstances, Han would have scoffed at the unlikelihood of her statement. However, she seemed so distracted, so  _ lost,  _ she might as well have meant it.

He ran his palms over his thighs, feeling tingles of anxiety run down his spine. He was  _ wrong;  _ seeing her alive wasn’t enough to reassure himself of her well being. No; sitting there next to her, everything felt  _ wrong _ .

“I was waiting for you, Leia,” he said, carefully, uncertain of the ground he stood. From the corner of the his eyes, he stole a glance of hers, and — were her cheeks wet? “You had me worried, when you didn’t come.”

Leia grimaced at the reminiscence; she had  _ forgotten,  _ and she became the worst person she could be. She had broken her promise to him, that they would talk, that she would stop being an idiot to him; instead, she only proved how much of a jerk she could be to those who cared for her.

She let him down.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, not bothering to explain herself. To her eyes, it was irrelevant. There was no excuse for her recent behavior.

“No need to apologize,” he simply waved his hand in the air. He cared so little, if not at all, for being dumped. “I brought you dinner. Thought you’d be hungry. It’s cold now, but I can heat it up really fast, if you want.”

Leia smiled tenderly at his kind gesture — or at least she  _ thought  _ she did; she couldn’t tell whether her lips had obliged or not. She loved his cooking; it brought her a sense of love and home. Until their journey to Bespin, and being stranded together in a small ship for an entire month, she hadn’t known of his cooking abilities. She still remembered the look of surprise she gave him upon walking into him, one day, making lunch in the small kitchenette of the Falcon. She still remembered what it was like to taste for the first time a meal he had come up with the few supplies he had stored in the ship. She still remembered  _ fondly  _ how badly he had made fun of her when he learned she couldn’t cook. At all.

Still, her stomach curled at the mere thought of eating, no matter how irresistible his cooking was. “I’m not hungry.”

He nodded, accepting her answer, even though he disagreed that she should starve herself. “Alright. Is there anything I can do for you?”

She shut her eyes tightly; she didn’t know that she had done it to contain her emotions inside of her. “I would like to be alone.”

“Okay.”

Although a little surprised that he had so willingly gratified her desire, she was thankful for it. And she waited, on the same position she had been in for hours, for him to go, but, very much like her, he didn’t move a muscle.

Leia frowned, and, for the very first time, she raised her neck to look at him. “Han?”

He didn’t even bother himself to glance at her. “Yeah?”

Sometimes, she just couldn’t  _ believe  _ him. “Aren’t you going to go?”

“What? You meant, like,  _ now _ ?” sometimes, Leia couldn’t tell whether he was playing dumb or simply  _ being  _ dumb. “You didn’t say when, so I just thought I could stay here with you for awhile, and  _ then  _ leave you alone.”

Her eyes widened; how did he manage to be so  _ infuriating  _ all the time? How could someone so clever fail to follow a simple instruction? How could he—

“That would be nice. I think,” her heart spoke ahead of her brain, and she sighed quietly, laying her head back on the pillow. It was dark, it was barely possible to make the shape of anything, but Leia could  _ swear  _ that she had seen the stupid proud smirk that took over his lips.

Han wouldn’t deny his happiness at being allowed to stay, even if just for one minute longer. He had just spent a year away from her, and, even though, to him, it felt like falling asleep and waking up on the next day, he missed her. He  _ longed  _ for her.

Even if he had no idea what to do next.

“Are you having a bad day?” he asked the obvious, and grimaced at himself. It was a stupid question, he knew, but he was too ignorant on how to proceed to do anything else.

Simply, she nodded, pulling her knees closer to her legs and pressing her arms to her chest. She didn’t know whether she was deliberately making herself small or not. 

After her ascend, he nodded as well. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” she said in a whisper, before chewing hardly on her inner cheeks. She knew, if he stayed, it would be a matter of time until the opened up to him, but, essentially, she did  _ not  _ want to talk. “Can you…”

She stopped midway her request, and he nearly fell to his knees to beg her to ask him  _ anything _ . “Yes, Leia?”

“Just,” it felt like the words were stuck on her throat. “Lie down next to me. Please…?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. Almost immediately, he kicked off his shoes and climbed next to her, between her body and the wall. He didn’t wait for an invitation to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her close to him. “Hey, Leia?”

She pressed her back strongly to his torso, feeling his presence and embracing it. He was warm, and his warmth was almost strong enough to cease the coldness inside of her. She hummed, waiting.

Han thought of the conversation he had had with Luke earlier in the day; he remembered how mad he had been when he woke up, all because some stupid fight he had brought upon them the previous light, and how enlightened Luke had made him before he got pulled away. Now, there he was, holding the person he cared for the most, and everything made sense.

“I love you, Leia,” he said, and tenderly kissed the back of her neck. The words were there, they couldn’t be unsaid, and he meant them with all his heart. Sure, Leia hadn’t been the first woman to whom he had said those words, but no one had earned it more than her. Nobody had ever made him feel the way she did.

Leia closed her eyes, feeling them stung again. She didn’t say it back; no, she had learned, during her years of solitude, that matters of the heart couldn’t be said in the spur of the moment, they had a duty of being truthful. She didn’t doubt the depth of her love for him — she only questioned her own worth.

And his small confession of love made all the difference.

Her silence didn’t bother him; he would never want her to give more of herself than she was ready to. No; the mere rising and falling of her chest against him was already enough.

And her silence prevailed. For the longest time; until she had found comfort in his embrace and relaxed her muscles, until she had found peace within herself and let her guard down.

“I think Luke hates me,” she confessed to the dead of the night, unsure whether she was talking to him or to herself or to the Force. To whichever would answer her first and confirm her suspicions to be true.

“What are you talking about?” Han whispered against her hair; if she could see him, she would have noticed the immediate grim that formed in his face. “Luke loves you. Luke  _ worships  _ you.”

Maybe, one day before, that had been true. But not anymore. “I’ve said some mean words. I wouldn’t blame him for hating me.”

“He caught you on a bad day,” Han stated, “So what?! It’s about time he learns that life isn’t a bed of roses.”

“Han, he  _ knows  _ that,” she said. Luke had suffered so much ever since he joined the rebellion, from losing his family and his home to learning that Darth Vader was his father. It was time he had something good coming on his way, and — and Leia was trying to steal him from that. “He’s been through a lot. He’s not the naïve person you think he is.”

“Yet another reason why he should respect your feelings when you’re having a bad day,” he argued. Han didn’t require the whole picture to be certain of one fundamental element: he would always be on her side. “You’re being too harsh on yourself. Trust me, all it takes is one good night of sleep and this will all be forgiven and forgotten in the morning.”

Except— she didn’t think she would be getting any sleep any time soon. The stressors of the day, added to the shadows of the past that always haunted her, kept her mind all too occupied to  _ sleep _ . “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

Leia breathed in a long breath; she didn’t even need to close her eyes to relive the events of earlier that day vividly. They replayed on her mind over and over again. Every wrong she had done and said plaguing her. She would rather keep it to herself, if only she didn’t feel so at ease next to him. “A strange woman came to find Luke today.”

“Yeah. I’ve met her.”

Abruptly — and taking him by surprise — Leia turned around to face him. He was almost as perplexed that little sentence was all it took to retrieve an emotion from her as he was to the sudden glare in her eyes. 

“You’ve  _ met  _ her?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he simply repeated, unsure of what to make of her reaction. “I was with Luke when she came to find him. Gave me the creeps.”

Just like that, she fell back to her original position — like his answer had passed her test and she could rest easy again. Although he knew there was still more to come, he didn’t press her into talking, instead giving him all the time she needed to sort her thoughts.

“She scared me, too,” Leia confessed, her voice low and raspy; she didn’t need to remark on the semantic difference between being scared and being creeped out — he understood it far too well.

For instance, Jabba the Hutt creeped him out. He didn’t fear the old beast, he was merely disgusted by it. On the other hand, he was scared to know the treatment he had put Leia through, during their failed rescue. She didn’t talk about it —  _ hadn’t  _ talked about it — but he knew the memories to haunt her still. 

“Why did she scare you, Leia?” he asked her, “You don’t get scared easily.”

“Lots of things scare me,” she corrected him, in that same monotonous tone of before. “Darth Vader scares me. The Death Star scares me. Darth Vader being my father terrifies me.”

He ran his hand against the curve of her waist, under the fabric of her clothes, trying to bring her some sense of comfort — unsure whether he was succeeding or not. “Gigantic things from your past that you have every right to fear. I don’t understand why some strange woman that you’ve never seen before would make you scared.”

“Because that woman,” she chose her words carefully, although she couldn’t tell if she were shielding him from the truth or herself. “That woman married Anakin Skywalker.”

For a few seconds, he simply stared at the back of her head, unbothered and unfazed by her allegation. And then, when the realization struck him, his eyes widened and his body became rigid as a rock. Was there another  _ Anakin Skywalker  _ in the picture that he wasn’t aware of?

“Does that mean…”

“Yes,” Leia consented before she knew what his question was going to be. It didn’t matter; whether if he were asking if that was her mother, or that someone was once capable of falling in love with Darth Vader, the answer was still the same. The answer still  _ scared  _ her.

“Oh,” was all he managed to say. It wasn’t like him to ever fall out of words, but Leia wouldn’t hold it over his head — because she felt exactly the same.

“Luke’s already looming all over her,” she added, but there wasn’t any rancor in her statement. She was happy for him, she really was, he deserved some sort of post war award. “I guess it makes sense. He never had a mother.”

“Hm,” a soft grunt of acknowledgement escaped his throat. In moments like this, he wished he could read her mind — or, at least, be able to look at her face. Her eyes tended to speak so much more than her words. “I would give anything to have my mother back.”

“Would you?” she didn’t sound perplexed. However, her remark bore so little life it scared  _ him.  _ He wouldn’t assume that her mind was at peace with the revelation; on the contrary, he expected all sorts of feelings to be going through her head. And seeing her like that, so lifeless, like she had already given up of the fight inside of her, made him  _ terrified.  _

“Yes,” was all he said. He knew better than to confront her when she had so little fire left. And it was true; his mother had died when he was nothing but a child, leaving him to fetch for himself. Her death forced him to grow up faster than other children, and he didn’t mind that as much as the gap that her absence left inside of him. Han barely had any memories left of her; he couldn’t remember what she looked like, or how she talked, or laughed. He remembered that he had loved her, and that he had been loved by her, and although he couldn’t picture a life that included the figure of a mother anymore, he wished he had had the chances to form new memories with her. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” Leia’s answer was almost automatic; she rarely ever allowed herself to bargain for a life that was impossible for her to ever have, but such life always lingered there, on the back of her mind, just waiting for the impossible to happen and she be given a second chance. “Except…” her voice faltered, and she was ashamed of the answer that had yet to come, “That’s not the mother I want back.”

There was a grief behind her voice that he had never seen before, and it surprised him. Leia rarely ever spoke of her home planet, or the family she had lost — because it was too painful to remember, he knew — and although he never doubted the existence of her sorrows, hearing her talk about it made his heart tight. Had he had any power over it, he would have given his  _ life  _ if it meant she wouldn’t need to lose  _ hers _ .

However, just like her, he knew there was no point dwelling in the past. “You… You could give her a chance, Leia.”

Leia shook her head so frantically he assumed she had finally reached her breaking point. “I could never replace my parents. I  _ don’t  _ want to replace my parents, Han.”

He understood she wasn’t only talking about her new mother, but of her conflicted feelings towards her Vader’s bloodline, too. She was struggling with her own identity, and only she would be able to overcome that inner sense of betrayal.

Except—Padmé’s arrival couldn’t have come at a worse time.

He frowned at himself; or at a  _ better  _ time. If there was one person who could help Leia accept her origins, it was the woman who had fallen in love with Darth Vader himself and brought a child from that love.

“You can have more than one family, Leia.”

“I know,” she said. “I already have you, and… and Luke.”

He couldn’t help but notice the hesitancy showed at the mention of her brother’s name; whatever had happened between them, it hadn’t turned out well. Still, he respected her enough not to pry. 

“Just… Don’t shut yourself off, Leia. From her, or from Luke. He loves you, and… She cares for you, too. Otherwise she wouldn’t have come back.”

Reluctantly, she nodded. She heard him loud and clear, but it was so hard to  _ listen  _ to him when she had already endured so much loss and betrayal in so little years of life. 

She was terrified that letting Padmé in would only lead in to further pain; a pain that she wouldn’t be able to bear.

That night, she couldn’t sleep. Even after she and Han had entered a deep state of silence, where only each other’s presence was enough, she wasn't able to put her mind to rest. Even after the sound of his heavy breathing behind her turned into a peaceful slumber, she found her mind to be too agitated to do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to say filler chapter but *ahem* filler chapter. but still an important chapter!! let me know what you think, I live to read your lovely little comments and takes on this story hehe :)


	8. Seven

Luke nearly fell off the bed when the sound of knocks echoed in his chamber, his heart pounding heavily against his chest. Although the knocks were gentle and hesitant against the door, he had been sleeping so profoundly that the disturbance came to him as a startle.

It took him a while to start functioning; he ran his hand through his rumpled hair and brushed the dust away from the corner of his eyes. He blinkled pausedly a few times, trying to force the sleep out of his system, and peeped at the bedside clock.

He frowned; it was too early, not even on his farmer days he used to willingly wake up so early. His frown remained as he finally stood up — he would fear that they were under attack, however, the tenderness of the hands of whoever it was there against his door was so comforting it almost came as a promise that everything would be alright.

He gave his own clothes small rubs, trying to flatten the wrinkles, to no avail. He didn’t care that much about his appearances, but didn’t exactly enjoy being caught while looking his worst. 

Bracing himself, he opened the door and the person he found there didn’t surprise him in the slightest.

 _Leia,_ of course. Who else would be up and ready for the day at 5:17 in the morning?!

“Leia,” his voice lacked every enthusiasm it usually held — not because he wasn’t happy to see her, but because it was _too early_ for any social visits.

“Luke,” unlike him, she did seem surprised to see him. Like she wasn’t expecting him to give her the courtesy of seeing her. “Nice, huh… Nice pijamas.”

Luke looked down at himself in disbelief — being forced out of bed wasn’t enough, he had to be insulted for his sleeping outfit as well. “I’m sorry I don’t have a fancy sleeping gown like you do, _Your Majesty._ ”

She raised her hand to hide the smirk that appeared in the corner of her lips. “I don’t either,” she said, and it was true — mostly, and specially during the year Han had spent frozen in carbonite, she only wore his old shirts. They were comforting, and the closest she felt to being home again. “Can I come in?”

Nodding, he stepped aside and watched as she entered his room. It was messy, _too_ messy; he thought of all the times his aunt had gotten mad at him at his refusal to tidy up his room, and how disappointed she would be if she knew he was receiving a _royal_ visit while looking like that, and having his chamber look like _that_.

“Did I awake you?” she asked, innocently, while her fingertips brushed the dusty surface of his desk.

“No, Leia,” he replied, sardonically, “I’d say waking up early runs in the family. If I’m not awake by five in the morning, then I consider it a bad day.”

Leia was so distracted that she didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm behind his voice — or, if she did, she chose to ignore it. “I couldn’t sleep. I tried, but… There was too much on my mind, so sleep never came to me.”

She had spent the entire night lying still on her bed, her eyes wide open. Although she had stated that she wanted to be left alone, Han somehow fell asleep next to her, in the tiny bunk that wasn’t suitable to fit the both of them. He had dozed off amidst her silence, and the sound of his heavy breathing was comforting — she had dreamed of it, night after night, when he had been taken away from her. Still, it was not powerful enough to succumb her to the slumber she so desperately needed.

Luke felt momentarily guilty after her confession. Unlike her, he had fallen asleep the moment his head touched his pillow — and he didn’t even think he was _that_ tired. Above all, he had had the most beautiful dreams, unlike anything he had dreamed in a long time.

“Luke, I—”

“Listen—”

They spoke at the same time, and it only added to the awkwardness in the air. Leia looked down at her hands, meanwhile Luke fell back to his mattress without any charm. “Let me speak,” he tried to impose, although it still sounded like a request. “For _one_ time in our lives together, let me have the word, okay?”

She smiled with the corner of her lips, bracing herself enough to restore eye contact with him. “Since it’s a one time only compromise, I guess I can _concede_.”

Laughing it off, Luke stood his arm to her, and waited for her to take his hand. She seemed hesitant, at first, but gracefully accepted his invite, and he instructed she should sit next to him. “I said some mean stuff last night. Things that aren’t true.”

She sighed heavily, “We both said things we shouldn’t have.”

“I thought you were listening in silence,” Luke remarked.

She snorted, and didn’t say anything else.

“As I was saying, I said things that hurt you. I knew they were going to hurt you, and I said them anyway. For that, I am sorry. I’m more sorry than you could ever imagine, and it’s okay if you don’t want to forgive me. I just want you to know that _you_ , Leia, are the best thing to happen to me. Both as a friend and as a sister. I would _never_ leave you.”

Leia quickly ran the back of her hand against her eyes, even though there was nothing there. She was thankful that they were standing side by side, because she doubted she would have it in herself to look at him in the eyes.

“I guess, what I’m trying to say is that I love you, Leia,” he rambled on, “You’re my sister, you’re my family, you’re all I’ve got. You’re an essential part of my life, and I hope I never have to learn what a life without you feels like.”

She sniffed, biting down on her lips. She didn’t need to be Force sensitive, or have an unexplainable connection to her twin, to know that he was saying the truth. “I would never throw you away, Luke. I hope you know that.”

Luke offered her hand in his a tight squeeze. “I _know_ that. What I said… Was absolutely out of line. I was acting on my emotions, rather than with my reason, and I’ll do my best never to let it happen again. I want to promise that I will never hurt you again, but I’m so scared that I might break this promise down the road and you’ll never trust me again.”

“It’s okay, Luke,” she reassured, “I’ve hurt you as well. There’s no excuse for my behavior. I was angry and I lashed out at you, when I shouldn’t have. You’re not the one to blame, and neither is her. I just… I feel like I’m broken, and I end up hurting those I love for fear of getting hurt myself. I know I need to get better, but I don’t know how to.”

“What are you talking about? You’re not _broken,_ Leia,” he tried to ascertain the truth he was sure of. “Just because bad stuff has happened to you, it doesn’t make you _broken._ On the contrary, it makes you the strongest person I know.”

She smiled tenderly with the corner of her lips. Even though she didn’t think it to be true, it was nice knowing that was how other people saw her. With little defiance, Leia laid her head over his shoulder, and he welcomed her in. “I’m glad I have found you, too.”

He rubbed her arm lovingly, refusing to let go of her.

For a moment, she only embraced his presence. She was glad to be there, by his side, with their relationship all but mended — even if they still had a long road ahead of them.

“Luke,” she broke the silence after a while, “What are we going to do?”

“Hm?” he frowned, momentarily at loss. “Oh, you mean about…”

“Yes.”

At last, Luke broke all the physical contact he shared with her — Leia pretended she wasn’t affected by his sudden retrieval — like the two women still lived in two completely different spheres. 

“Leia, I…” he struggled to find the right words. “I want to _know_ her. I have dreamed of knowing her all my life.”

Pulling her legs up, close to her, she simply nodded. “I don’t want to get in the way of your happiness, Luke.”

Abruptly, he stood up, and he chased after the same spot she had claimed when she arrived. “I’m not trying to pick up a fight, or spite you, but I need to know. Why do you hate her _so much_?”

“I don’t hate her, Luke,” she tiredly ran her hand through her hair, nearly dismantling the braids that had taken her nearly half an hour to make. “I barely know her.”

“But you don’t like her,” he presumed, finding it hard to look at her again.

Peacefully, Leia repeated, “I barely know her.”

“I don’t know her, either,” he argued, “ _She_ doesn’t know us, either. But she came back, for us, because she _loves_ us. Can’t you feel it?”

“ _She_ barely knows us,” Leia said, “She can’t love us. Not yet, anyway. She might have picture us, idealized us in her dreams, but people… People are rarely what we want them to be.”

“What I hear is, you’re afraid that she won’t be like you dreamed her to be in your childhood,” Luke concluded, crossing his arms under his chest. He didn’t share that fear, no; he was _certain_ that she was infinitely more than his young, innocent mind had made her to be.

“Luke,” she said his name for what seemed the millionth time that dawn, hoping—just hoping—that he would hear her. “That’s not what I said. I’ve never had any interest _at all_ of seeking my birth parents.”

At last, Luke turned back to glance at her — she couldn’t tell whether there was curiosity or disappointment behind his eyes. “That can’t be true. Every adopted child has an innate need to know where they’ve come from, and _why_ they were abandoned in the first place.”

“Not me,” Leia replied. She knew that, by every standard, she wasn’t an average adopted child. She was given into power and privilege, although those were the aspects that had less troubled her childish mind. “I love _my_ parents. It doesn’t matter that we were never related by blood, _they_ were my family. They were all I had. Asking about those who gave birth to me, _only_ gave birth me, felt like a disrespect to the home and the love I was so selflessly given.”

“She didn’t know about us, Leia,” he said, defensive, not knowing _why_ he was so protective of the woman he had just met. Maybe, he thought it was his duty. “She thought we were dead—she didn’t even know she had given birth to twins! I am promising you, Leia, Padmé has loved us ever since she became pregnant. We would have lived the best lives if we were under her care during our childhoods.”

Leia resisted the urge to roll her eyes — was he ignoring what she was saying on purpose or was he just that daft? “Tomorrow is promised to no one, but I _insist_ upon my past. Alderaan is my home. It might no longer exist, but it will _always_ be my home. I can promise you, Luke, that I will never bargain for a life that I might have had with her, _even_ if that alternative life meant I would never have to bear the pain of losing everything dear to me.”

“I’m sorry, Leia,” he said with a low voice, and he seemed genuine — even if she didn’t know what he was apologizing for. At least, this time, it appeared that he had _listened_ to her. “I just want you to be happy again.”

She, too, would like to see that day come again, but that day seemed so far in the future that she could spare the effort of being happy _right now_. “I appreciate your concern, Luke, but suddenly having a mother again won’t magically fix me.”

“You’re not broken,” he said for the second time. “You don’t _need_ to be fixed.”

She merely shrugged — she hadn’t come there to have _that_ conversation, especially when she was already far too busy having it with herself. 

Slowly — and a little bit dramatically — he walked back to her side. “I just feel so bad, Leia, because I am _so happy_ to have her back. I don’t remember ever being this happy. I was devastated when I learned of my connection to Vader, even though he became Anakin again in the end and I saw the love in him, but meeting Padmé… There’s just so much good in her, and I want to be part of all that goodness. It feels like the place I’ve been yearning for my entire life.”

Her breath got stuck in her throat when she heard him speaking so affectionately of _him._ It made her mad, it made her blood pressure rise through the roof. Darth Vader was incapable of loving, there was only hatred and destruction in him — anyone who ever dared to _love_ him, be it her brother, or her mother, was a fool, and they made her so angry she could almost see her eyes going dark.

“You’ve gone silent all of the sudden,” Luke noticed, although he was unable to perceive that he had been the one to cause her to back away. “And your face is all weird.”

Leia breathed in a long breath; she could not attempt to lose her patience at him again, when she had already mistreated him in the day before. Still, it took _everything_ from her not to crucify the monster who had stolen everything from her. “I am thinking.”

He nodded. “About…?”

“Padmé most likely doesn’t know about Vader.”

His eyes widened, and it was the first time that night that he looked taken aback. “Doesn’t she? She might.”

“Unlikely,” she speculated. “If she didn’t know we were alive, she probably doesn’t know of _Anakin’s_ twisted fate,” she spat his name out, and her tongue felt sour. She refused to separate the two men, as Luke often did. To her, Anakin would always be Darth Vader. His redemption didn’t undo all his wrongs. 

Luke scratched his invisible beard. “Alright. We have to tell her.”

“ _We_?” she gave him a pointed look. “If you don’t mind, I’ll excuse myself from that conversation.”

“Leia—”

“That is not a revelation I’d like to go through twice,” she argued, and meant it. The memories of that night haunted her; she would like nothing more than to forget it. 

“Leia, we’re her children. Most importantly, we’re _his_ children,” he couldn’t help but noticing the immediate grim that he brought to her face. “It has to come from both of us. If we can show that we’ve accepted it, then she might recognize it, too.”

Abruptly, Leia rose both her hands in the air. “Accept it?! _Accept_ it?! I’m sorry, Luke, but I will never accept it. I am eternally grateful for having found a brother in you, but I wish I had never learned about _him_.”

“You’re letting your hatred speak for you,” he warned.

“Damn right I am!” very rarely did Leia speak foul words, and they weighed twice as much when it came from her. “I _hate_ him, Luke. There’s nothing that can change that.”

His lips ducked in a pout. “I’m sorry I will always be associated with the truth about your parentage.”

“Stop putting words on my mouth,” just like that, she became calm again — or, at least, pretended to be. “I never said that.”

“Seems like you did,” he moped, like a spoiled child.

“I am tired of fighting, Luke,” she confessed, hoping his Jedi powers allowed him to perceive how honest she had been. 

Once again, he sat on his bed, with his legs under him, and they were face to face. His face softened, and he looked apologetic. “I’m tired, too.”

Leia stared deeply into his ocean eyes, careful not to drown on them. She had dark, brown eyes, so did Padmé — she wondered if Anakin had those eyes, eyes that opened a gateway to the universe itself.

“I will be at your side when you tell Padmé about Vader,” she conceded—she _gave up_.

In his eagerness, Luke leaned forward and pressed a small kiss of gratitude to her cheek. To his dismay, however, not a single emotion flicked through her face.

* * *

Mon Mothma always appreciated the peace that morning brought her. 

Ever since she started working in the Senate, in the final days of the Republic, she enjoyed waking up early, as the first rays of sunshine came through the dark skies, not only because that allowed her a more productive day, but she came to learn that — people were less likely to disturb her when she worked in the early hours of morning.

Working in the rebellion, it was no different, especially now that things were starting to slow down. Palpatine was dead, Darth Vader was defeated, the Imperial Senate had been taken over; the rebel fighters deserved a few days to sleep in. She appreciated the quietness; it gave her the time the plan the next step of the war.

Because of that, she frowned intensely at the sudden sound of someone knocking in the door of her small office just as the chromo struck eight.

However, she did not raise her eyes from her datapad as she sad, “Come in.”

The door cracked open with a creak, and heavy steps entered the room. A sweet hoarse voice followed right after, “You were always an early bird.”

Mon Mothma all but froze in her place. She had _heard_ that voice before, hadn’t she?! She wasn’t the one to easily forget — but it had been _so long_ that she had forgotten. She had buried that voice so deep inside her mind that its reappearance felt like a deja vu. When she finally raised her head, the stillness of her body transcended to her mind. That _couldn’t_ be true, that was _impossible_ —

“Padmé?!”

Padmé smiled shyly at the uncertainty of Mon Mothma’s voice — and to think that woman was one of her closest friends! Truth was, she didn’t know how to react either. It all was an unknown territory, Padmé Amidala was supposed to be _dead_ ; therefore, she stood there like a ghost.

“Hello, Mon,” she said, flickering between looking at her face and staring down at her own hands. She had been looking forward for this reunion; she longed to see a familiar face that didn’t glare at her like she was a freak, like she didn’t _belong_ there. Padmé herself already struggled to find her stance there, it would be nice to have someone who knew her for whom she _was._ And yet, she was anxious to be there.

Mon Mothma studied her with wide eyes. Padmé looked so similar, yet, she looked exactly the _same_. There was some evidence of grey in the roots of her hair, alongside a few wrinkles in her forehead and cheeks. Her body shape had remained around the same, spare for the roughness of her hands, indicating years of labor work. Naturally, she had aged; however, her eyes of perseverance and hope for a better days remained the same.

“I know this must come as a shock,” Padmé rambled; it wasn’t in her nature to ever be out of words, except—ever since she had gotten here, she always struggled to find the words she needed. “But, yeah, here I am.”

“You’re right. It’s a shock. It’s something I _never_ dreamed possible,” Mon said, honestly, and then stood up, circling around the small table to take a stance with Padmé. The retired senator was still looking down, clasping her hands nervously in front of her, so Mon brought their hands together, with a tight squeeze. She smiled, “I am _so happy_ to see you, Padmé.”

Padmé met her eyes, at last, and Mon embraced her in a hug. It was warm, and it reminded her of what it felt to be loved. She didn’t think that, back in Radaa, she hadn’t been loved — no; Safira and Taro had _cared_ for her, and that was more than she could have ever imagined for herself after she had been dropped and abandoned in the small, farming moon. They had loved her as a substitute mother, and, most days, that had been enough. But she missed being loved as a daughter, as a friend, as a _lover._

During the entirety of her youth, she had known life to be defined by love, and the relationships that love bounded. She wondered, maybe, if she had unconsciously come back in a desperate attempt to feel alive again. To have someone unconditionally love her once more.

It was irrational to expect that from either of her children, but she could find it on a life lasting friendship.

When they finally broke apart, Mon instructed she should grab a chair — which she did — and then, sat down next to her. The supreme leader seemed a little hesitant to start a conversation, but her position in the rebellion demanded she sought knowledge wherever it could be find. “Padmé… You were dead. I saw them bury you. What happened?”

Padmé nodded, fighting the urge to bury her face on her hands. She was _done_ hiding, it was time she showed the galaxy her face again. “I… I don’t know. I came here hoping you’d have some answers.”

Mon frowned. “You don’t remember? Anything?”

“No…?” there was an intonation of a question, indicating how disbelieved that event made her. Back then, she didn’t fight hard enough, she simply… gave up. She believed every information that had been given to her, and didn’t second guess them — and here she thought she used to be a good politician!

Maybe, just maybe, if she had known that her baby—babies—had lived, history would have followed a different path. 

“Everything is a blank,” she confessed with a small voice. “I fell asleep in a medical bay, and I woke up in a strange planet, and I was so sad that I settled there. Everything seemed pointless, including my own existence.”

Padmé cleared her throat, and continued, “Mon, do you remember that I was pregnant?”

“Of course,” Mon reminisced sadly. “It was the talk of the Senate, _who_ had impregnated the former queen of Naboo. I hope I don’t offend by bringing this back, but people… They were desperate for some sort of relief from the worries and dangers of war, and you were that to them. And, still, you managed to take that credit to your grave.”

Padmé smiled shyly; she knew that people talked about her beyond her back, called her names and speculated about a life that was none of their business. It didn’t bother as much as she thought she would; if they saw her as an escapism to their mundane issues, then let them be. “You knew, though.”

“I _suspected,_ ” Mon corrected, “But, no, I never knew. Nobody did. And then, it didn’t matter anymore, because life had been stolen from the both of you,” she sighed, “It was the saddest, most tragic story. A mother who died before she could see her child. A child who died before they could see their mother. The galaxy mourned for you as it mourned for democracy.”

She conceded with a nod, “I mourned for my child, too. My entire life, ever since I _died_ , felt like an endless loop of grief for the child I had never met.”

Mon pressed her lips tightly together, but said nothing.

“Do you know what happened?” Padmé prompted, holding out to the last of hoping she had in her to learn the truth of that day. “I know I was taken to a medical bay. I remember Obi-wan Kenobi and Bail Organa to be there. Mon… You were best friends with Bail, in the Senate. I assume that wouldn’t change when the Empire rose. He would tell you everything. I know he would.”

“I didn’t know that you were alive, Padmé,” she replied, “And I don’t think Bail did, either.”

“I’m just… So confused, Mon,” she said, hoarsely. “Above all, I am mad.”

She hadn’t realized it until now — Padmé Amidala was infuriated. Before, she had thought that being back into her children’s life would be enough. That all their time lost wouldn’t matter. But now, seeing them, meeting them, knowing them to be their own people, she was envious. Someone had stolen her of them—stolen them from her?—and she was desperate for answers.

“I don’t think Bail knew that you had lived,” she repeated. Mon didn’t think she was being too defensive of her old friend, but she had known the man. He was proud of his morals and convictions; he wouldn’t steal anybody of their happiness to guarantee his own. “When he told me of your death, he was devastated. Like I had never seen him before. You can’t fake that sadness, that grief… Not when you’re a good person.”

Padmé nodded. She felt guilty; she had been a close friend to Bail Organa, and to Obi-wan Kenobi, why would she suddenly blame them for what happened to her? Had she started to act irrationally?

“I’m desperate, Mon. Whatever information, memory, even, that you have of those days is truly appreciated.”

Mon stared at her for a few moments, her face lacking any emotion or expression — like she was on the Senate, dealing with a frantic politician. She would never have expected that frantic politician to be Padmé, though. Padmé, the strong headed woman that she had known! “He told me that your death never made sense to him. The medical droid told him that you had lost your will to live, and it only got worsened when you gave birth to a stillborn baby. You were left alone with the droid for a few moments, while him and Obi-wan took your lifeless child somewhere else, and when they came back, the droid told them that you had died. And they never saw you again.”

“And you believe him? You believed _everything_ that he told you?” she emphasized. Even if Bail had told Mon Mothma his truth about her death, part of it had been a lie. “You never suspected _anything_?”

“You’re asking me if I’ve never suspected the perfect timing that Bail came home with a child?!” she instigated. “Of course I did, Padmé. But it wasn’t my place to ask questions, and, honestly? I’m not sure I _wanted_ to make those questions aloud. Bail brought a great threat upon himself, his family and his home by taking in an orphan that might have been Padmé Amidala and Anakin Skywalker’s love child, a child that was most likely force sensitive, and it’s a _miracle_ that it wasn’t _her_ that killed him. Killed Alderaan.”

Padmé couldn’t miss the harsh tone behind her words; of course, she shouldn’t have expected Mon to sit back idly as she accused Senator Bail Organa of kidnapping her daughter. Senator Bail Organa! Padmé sighed, incredulous of herself. 

“Ahsoka was the one who took me away,” she judged wisely to deviate the matter in the slightly. “I woke up alone, in a planet far far away, and Ahsoka told me that my baby had died. She hadn’t even seen get the chance to see them. Was she lying? Was she the one to take me away from _my still breathing child_ because she thought that would keep me safe? Or, even worse, because they all decided to use my child in a plot to overthrow the Emperor, a narrative that I had no place in?”

“I _think_ , Padmé, that those were all people who were your friends,” Mon spoke very seriously, “Ahsoka, Obi-wan, Bail, they _all_ cared for you, they loved you. It was never in their intention to hurt you, to separate you from your child. Still, somehow, it happened, and unfortunately it can’t be undone. _Unfortunately,_ they’re all dead, and they can’t speak for their actions.”

Her eyes were glowing, but not with happiness. “Ahsoka… Ahsoka died too?”

She didn’t know why that had suddenly struck her. She had seen the girl growing up, she had all but considered her a surrogate daughter; she might have not thought of her _in years,_ but she never expected her spark to ever extinguish.

“I haven’t seen or heard of her in a long time,” just like that, Mon bore her usual grace and calm again. “These have been a few hard years for the rebellion, and Ahsoka was always putting up a fight. I pray that she’s alright, _safe_ , somewhere else, however, I can’t help myself but to fear the worst.”

“She was a good soldier,” and then, Padmé corrected, “She was a good person. She wouldn’t willingly hurt anyone she cared for.”

Padmé breathed out loudly. Mon Mothma was right; none of those people would ever purposefully hurt her. They wouldn’t steal her babies away from her, they wouldn’t steal her _life._

Then again, she had also once thought that about Anakin, and he broke her heart. Shivering, she pushed the thought away.

“For the past twenty years, I thought that my life as Padmé was over,” she confessed, her voice low. “There was no point on me ever coming back. Even if the Empire were defeated, I had buried that life so deep inside that I never felt the urge to bring her back. Until a few days ago,” Padmé spoke seriously, but, this time, her eyes _glowed_ with sparks, “When I learned of Luke Skywalker.”

“Your son,” Mon concluded, with an almost unnoticeable whif, “The son that had been allegedly buried with you.”

“Except—both of us lived,” Padmé said, holding back an ironical laugh she wanted to aim at the universe. Then, she grimaced; “The _three_ of us did, none of us knowing of each other’s existence until everything was all but forgotten.”

She felt bad for excluding Leia of her narrative, even if she had yet to figure out what was her place in her daughter’s life. If she meant anything at all. But Leia had once been part of her, too, and she would like to acknowledge that.

“Anakin died,” Padmé carried on, and this time her voice became one step closer to its edge. She _missed_ him, everyday, and it had pained her the most to see Darth Vader on the holonet always causing terror and destruction. Anakin died, and then, he _crushed_ her heart.

Padmé concluded she was the only person, aside from the Emperor, that knew of Vader’s true identity. She despised having to carry that burden on her shoulders, especially now that she had made her way to the rebellion, that she had found her _children._ She felt like she was betraying all that she stood for by keeping that secret to herself, over the assumption that people wouldn’t trust her anymore if they learned she had married the dark lord. Above all, she feared Luke — and Leia — would disown her if that knowledge came to them.

Still, she knew she was ought to tell them. They were entitled to the truth, they had the right to learn of their past, as much as it might hurt. It was decided, then. She would tell them sooner than later — _maybe,_ they would be able to forgive her of her crimes if she didn’t spare them of the heartache for too long. Any relationship had to be built on trust, and Vader’s identity was the foundation of theirs.

“Losing Anakin—losing all the Jedi… It was the fatal blow to whatever was left of the Republic,” Mon Mothma said, “Palpatine was a clever man, he knew of everything he had to do to ensure his power. He wouldn’t reign so long as the Jedi lived. And his reign ended, when the Jedi returned.”

Padmé smiled warmly, hearing of her son. She was _so proud of him,_ and she was proud of be his mother. Even if she had chosen not to make her way back to him — she would be proud enough to watch him thriving from the shadows.

“It’s over now,” Mon said, “We still have a lot of ground to walk on, of course, but thanks to your son, the worst is over. We are forever in his dept.”

“I’ve met him, Mon,” Padmé confessed, noticing how badly she had failed to contempt the happiness behind her voice. “He’s… He’s everything that I ever dreamed of.”

“I’m happy for you, Padmé,” Mon smiled. “After everything you went through, you deserve your share of happiness, at last. And I hope you find comfort on him for everything that you came to lose.”

“My only desire is that he lets me stay in his life. Forever, as long as I can,” this time, her voice was quieter. From his reaction upon meeting her, she doubted he would ever want to part ways, but it seemed that he had pledged an alliance to his sister that was bigger than Padmé’s existence. Of course, she didn’t want to come between them, but also she feared how far Leia was willing to go to keep her distance _from_ Padmé.

 _Stop it,_ she damned herself. She wasn’t entitled to antagonize a girl that she had known for five minutes altogether. It wasn’t fair to Leia, and it made her feel like a _terrible_ mother — regardless if she had never been a mother to _her._

“I’ve known Luke for a few years now. He’s not like that,” Mon argued, holding her steady composure as usual. “He’s the sweetest boy you’ll ever meet. He’s always kind, he’s got a good heart, and he can’t do harm to a fly — it is indeed quite remarkable how he managed to overthrow the empire when he’s the most generous person you’ll ever meet. He reminds me of you,” she paused, “You have nothing to be afraid of.”

That had been the second time someone had told her that they were alike—no, she wasn’t counting—and it brought her warm. She considered herself to be a good person, and it meant everything to know that he had inherited the goodness in her.

“I’m not scared of that,” Padmé replied, keeping her sparkling eyes on the supreme leader. “However, I’m terrified… Of _her_.”

For a while, Mon Mothma simply stared at her, expecting an explanation to follow. When it didn’t, she grimaced and her face all but fell when realization struck her. “Leia.”

Padmé nodded, ashamed with herself. What a _terrible_ mother she was, having preferences between her children, diminishing the one she liked less. Maybe they had been right to take the twins away from her. They— _Leia_ —were better off without her.

“Leia doesn’t like me a lot.”

Mon smiled sadly; she had known the young princess ever since she was just a baby, she had watched her grow and become the woman she was today. Leia Organa had once worshipped her parents — perhaps, she still did, regardless of how she felt betrayed by them after the revelations of Vader — therefore, it was natural that she would be apprehensive of anyone to tried to take their place, be it the monster that Vader became or the angel that Padmé had once been.

“Word of advice,” Mon threaded carefully, “Refrain from telling her that her father kidnapped her. She will probably slap you.”

It had been said as a form of comic relief, and Padmé appreciated it. She even chuckled softly at it. However, it faded away too fast. “What is she like, Mon?”

Leaning back, Mon clicked her tongue, “Wouldn’t you like to learn that for yourself?”

It was a valid point; indeed, she was counting the seconds until Luke Skywalker woke up so she could start unraveling him, layer by layer, until she knew _everything_ about him. Why couldn’t she feel the same about Leia? “I would. But I don’t think she’s going to give me the chance.”

Mon Mothma nodded, understanding. “Leia has been through a lot. In 23 years of life, she’s faced more than many people do in their entire lives. Although it is not my place to disclose of her turmoils, I hope you know that her apprehensiveness doesn’t come from her being a bad person. It comes from an innate fear of being hurt, again.”

Padmé’s face shut down; she hadn’t considered that. She had been so busy in her selfishness and her desire to reunite with them that she never thought that Leia would have her valid reasons, too.

“Leia’s lost everything,” Padmé commented, with a sad halo around her. However, from the way Mon Mothma ascended with her head, she suspected there was much, much more to Leia’s life that wasn’t made public.

She would have to earn Leia’s trust to learn about her life — although part of her wasn’t sure she wanted to know all of the suffering that someone blood of her blood had endured.

“When Bail and I started the rebellion, he made me promise one thing,” Mon Mothma looked deeply into her eyes, to the point that made Padmé uncomfortable. “Should anything happen to him, he would like me to look after his daughter. Not because she’s not capable of doing so herself, but because she _deserves_ to have someone in her life who unconditionally cares for her. Still, although the risks were always there, we never truly expected to lose him, or that the Empire would be as radical as to obliterate Alderaan. _I_ never expected Leia to lose everything she had ever known, and that made my promise to Bail much more personal.”

Padmé didn’t have to be a genius to hear the message loud and clear: if it came to choosing between Leia and Padmé, Mon Mothma would always take Leia’s side.

“Does she…” she swallowed hard, “Does Leia know of that promise?”

“Oh, of course not,” Mothma dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “If she ever came to know about it, she would go as far as bringing Bail back to life only to kill him herself.”

She laughed with a buff, “Charming.”

Mon joined her chuckle. “Leia is a very strong person. She’s the strongest person I know. She’s lost everything, and she still manages to get out of bed everyday with her head high. Everyday, she walks around the place spreading hope to _everyone_ of a better tomorrow. Everyday, she flaunts sparks of a promise that they will be able to come home when the war is over to their loved ones, Everyday, she loses a piece of herself knowing that she herself will never see her home again, and yet, she never allows herself to fall down. She’s a symbol of inspiration and ambition to everyone here. We are in Luke’s dept, yes, but we also owe a lot to Leia.”

Padmé was hearing a side to Leia that she hadn’t known before — even if she _really_ didn’t know anything at all. But she had heard of the cold princess, and maybe she had built her a figure based on that, when, in reality, the princess was so much more than that. She learned, in that moment, that she wanted more than anything to get to know that person. Even if she didn’t get to be her _mother_ ; she would happy enough to be her friend.

“Mon…” she pledged, “What do I do? How do I get to know her?”

“Give her time. Give her space,” Mon smiled condescendingly. “Don’t push her. She’ll come to you when she’s ready.”

“What if she’s never ready? What if she’ll always refute the idea of me being in her life?”

“Then you’ll have to love her enough to let her go,” she clasped her hands together in her lap.

Padmé nodded, looking down. She didn’t think she was ready to say goodbye — she had just gotten there, she had just _found_ them; it wasn’t fair that she would ever have to leave them. So, she prayed. Silently, she sent a prayer to whomever dared to hear her that she would never have to be apart of them again.

For the second time that morning, a set of knocks came to Mon Mothma’s door. It was later in the morning, therefore she was more apt to receive visitors. Still, she knew _exactly_ who it was, even if she wasn’t force sensitive.

“Excuse me,” she said as she stood up, walking past Padmé and the door opened with a hiss.

Of course, as she had predicted, Leia Organa stood there.

“Hey, Mon,” she greeted without any decor, not even bothering to look up. It seemed she was far busier with the datapad in her hands and the stack of files under her armpit to have any elegance in her. Neither did she wait for an invite to barge into Mothma’s office. “You’re probably busy, but I’ve sketched a scheme to—”

Leia stopped mid sentence as she felt a second pair of eyes on her. That was all it took her to regain her composure; she straightened her back and held her head high, enough to have herself look _just_ a little taller. “Oh.”

Had Mothma noticed the tension in the air, she didn’t acknowledge it. “Leia, I would like you to meet a dear friend of mine.”

Leia calmed her heart inside her chest, while she did her best not let a single emotion appear on her face. A dear friend of Mon’s? Who the _heck_ was that woman? More importantly, did Mothma know of Leia’s apparent bloodline to her _dear friend_? Was that just another lie that had been kept from her? Leia let a complacent smile shape her lips. “You don’t have to, Mon. We’ve met already.”

Mon Mothma placed her arm on Leia’s arm, trying to make her more comfortable and accepting to the environment she was in. In return, Leia looked suspiciously at that hand on her. “No, Leia. You might have met this Padmé, but I would like to introduce you to the Elected Monarch and Senator of Naboo.”

Leia frowned, unsure of how to process that information. She never had never considered titles and position to matter — her title as the last princess of Alderaan was the bane of her existence — but it did surprise her to know that Padmé Amidala had been someone important, one day. She had been elected Queen of Naboo, which gave her much more prestige than Leia would ever have as the royal descended Queen of Alderaan; she had been chosen for the rank, not born for it, and that alone gave her more credit than Leia was willing to admit. She had been a Senator, most likely alongside Mon Mothma and her own father. Her father must have known her, must have been her friend, and he chose to look after her daughter when she no longer could.

Except—it didn’t make sense! If Padmé had been a Queen and a Senator, than she must have been _smart._ How could any intelligent being fall in love with Darth Vader?

She placed her datapad and the files under her arm over Mon’s desk, and, like her parents had taught her, she curtsied for those superior to her. “It’s an honor.”

Padmé quickly rose from her seat, but froze immediately after—what was she supposed to do? Was Leia expecting to be curtsied back? Was Leia _mocking_ all those titles? No; that would imply that she didn’t care for her own title. However, considering that she no longer had a home or a crown, did she?

“There’s no need for formalities,” she managed to say, “I haven’t been either of those things for over two decades now.”

Leia simply stared at her with wide eyes, not even noticing when Mon’s hand finally left her arm.

“Padmé was a tremendous politician, Leia,” Mon carried on, standing right between the two women as some sort of mediator. “She was one of the few Senators who spoke against Palpatine’s acts of tyranny. She was one of the few Senators that didn’t idly sit back, but tried to make a difference. Come to think about it, you take it after her.”

Leia’s head followed too quickly to the supreme leader, and her eyes almost burnt down the path to her. “I take it after my _father_.”

“Of course,” Mon Mothma didn’t even flinch at the sudden wave of rage that came from the young princess. “I meant no disrespect to your father. You know that, Leia.”

And she _did_ know that; Leia was embarrassed to have so quickly snapped at her. Mon Mothma had always been kind to her, considerate of her feelings; _she_ was the one being disrespectful by letting her anger at the universe speak louder than the fondness of the relationships she had cultivated along the years. She let out a long breath, only noticeable to herself, hoping to regain her composure.

“I apologize for my erratic behavior, Mon,” she said, eyes still fixated, almost ignoring Padmé’s presence there altogether. She didn’t give the leader the chance to either accept or dismiss her apologies. “I have devised a tactical plan on how to assemble the Senate back together. I came here to discuss it with you, but I see that you’re busy, so I’ll leave you to it.”

Afraid she would be interrupted or held back, Leia was quick to turn to Padmé and offer yet another curtsy, before leaving without looking back. When the door hissed closed, Padmé lost whatever posture she had left and fell down to the chair, burying her face deep into her hands.

“Time and space, Padmé,” Mon Mothma repeated, and, although Padmé nodded, nothing more was said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we finally have our Mon and Padmé reunion!! I know some of you were looking forward to that haha
> 
> Thank you all for your feedback so far, it makes me inspired to keep on writing!


	9. Eight

“You’re shaking.”

“What? No, I’m not,” Padmé Amidala looked at Ameera with squinted eyes. The two women were walking side by side through the endless corridors of the rebellion base, with one destination in mind — and even though Padmé would deny it, it seemed she was purposefully slowing her pacing so she would never reach where she needed to be.

It had been lunchtime when Luke came to find her, quietly sitting on her own in a corner of the refectory. She had been the happiest to see him again, less tense than he had been in the day before, and still just as jubilant. Overall, he seemed  _ happy  _ to see her, and she couldn’t remember the last time someone had showed this much exhilaration towards her. 

He hadn’t been able to stay, and she saw in her eyes how much he  _ wanted  _ to. In reality, he had only come after her to ask her to join himself and Leia after dinner, because they needed to talk. Sure, there was  _ a lot  _ that they needed to discuss, however, the shift in his eyes and the flinch in his lips and the edginess of his voice were enough indicators that she wasn’t going to like that conversation.

That brief interaction had left her on the verge of her anxiety; she spent the entire day worrying about what they wanted to talk about. She was certain nothing good would come from it; no, Leia was clear that she didn’t want anything to do her, therefore it had to be something  _ serious  _ that Padmé would need to be sat down by the both of them.

Something like them reaching an agreement that they didn’t need her in their life, and, therefore, she should go. Even if it wasn’t in Luke’s interest — he was loyal to Leia, and he would bend his needs for her if it came to it.

And Padmé didn’t want to come between them; she dreaded to break apart the beautiful relationship that they seemed to have, even at the sake of her own desolation. 

She would go gracefully, if they asked her to. However, she couldn’t leave without disclosing the truth about their parentage. So, today would also be the night she revealed that Anakin Skywalker had fallen and become Darth Vader.

Walking towards Leia’s small office, where Luke had asked her to meet them, she couldn’t tell what was making her more nervous — the conversation she needed to have with them, or the conversation they were going to have with her.

Padmé was thankful that Ameera had consented to walk with her to the room where all her fears were lurking. Although Ameera was bound to only make her journey more tumultuous than it ought to be, the distraction was exactly what she needed in that moment.

“I’m just saying,” Ameera spoke without any reverence. “You wouldn’t have hidden your hands away from me if I hadn’t been right.”

Padmé had crossed her arms under her breasts after the initial remark, and the second comment almost made her unfold them again. She held them on place. “Can we, for once, just walk side by side while having a conversation like normal beings?”

“Okay,” Ameera nodded, facing forward. “Except— _ I’m  _ not the abnormal one here.”

Padmé made a face, “ _ Why  _ is it me?”

“Normal people just don’t give birth to heroes, Padmé,” she argued, biting down on her nails as she walked on. “Normal people are boring, and they don’t make history.”

“I’m not going down on history. Only my children are,” she sighed, “Can we  _ please  _ talk about anything else?”

“Sure, whatever,” she grunted, “Where are we going?”

“ _ We  _ are going nowhere. You’re just keeping me company until  _ I  _ get to where I need to get.”

“And where  _ do  _ you need to get?”

“Luke and Leia are waiting for me,” she admitted with a small voice, shivering at the mere thought. 

Ameera nodded. “Family reunion?”

“I don’t—” she grimaced. “I don’t think we’re a  _ family.  _ Not yet, anyway. Ah—it’s complicated.”

“It’s not complicated,” Ameera argued, “That was what you came here for. A family. There’s nothing complicated about that. They’re blood of your blood, flesh of your flesh. Families are, indeed, complicated — and that’s the root of your issues here — but that includes the fact that you are, in the core, a family.”

Padmé didn’t know whether Ameera believed her own words, or if she was just trying to cheer her up. Still, it was enough for Padmé to lower her shields. “There’s more to family than blood.”

“I’m not convinced,” she merely shrugged. “Friends…  _ People  _ constantly let you down. You can only seek refuge home.”

“Family,  _ home _ , can let you down, too,” Padmé argued, the vague memory of Anakin coming to her mind; to her bliss, it disappeared all too fast. “Heartbreaks come from everywhere, from the places,  _ the people _ , you least expect. Nobody is ever safe from the pain.”

Ameera crossed her arms in front of her, not realizing she mimicked the same stance as Padmé. “You are, if you’re alone.”

Padmé glanced at her with the corner of her eyes, “What makes you think being alone isn’t just another form of pain?”

“You’re speaking from experience. You didn’t  _ choose  _ to be alone. Your children were taken from you, your husband died. Suddenly, there was no one you could turn to. You didn’t choose to be alone, yet, loneliness was all that you had — until you found your way here again. Back to your family,” she wandered about. “I’m not like that. I chose to be alone. Nobody can take the peace of spirit away from me that comes from the knowledge that there’s virtually no one who can hurt me.”

“I think you’re so  _ hurt _ , ‘Meera, that you refuse to see all the people that you have, that you could have,” Padmé said, speaking from the heart — she knew that kind of pain all too well.

“I don’t have anybody.”

“If that is true,” she threaded carefully towards a territory not so unknown, “Then why are you here with me?”

Ameera wrinkled her nose, considering it. From her face expression, Padmé assumed she didn’t like her assertion at all. Yet—

“ _ Fine _ . I have you,” she said angrily, “But you’re worth at least three people.”

Padmé laughed and, unable to hold herself back, she locked her arm around Ameera’s, laying her head against her blue skin. “You have me.”

Ameera looked down on the small person suddenly attached to her in repugnance. “Yes, whatever. No need to get all mushy on me now.”

Padmé smiled, and didn’t let go.

“I don’t understand you,” Ameera sighed, given up on freeing herself from her. “You’ve came here for your children, you’ve found them. You’re reunited with them. Why do you still need me?”

“I like you,” she stated matter of factly. “Just because I’ve found my people, it doesn’t mean I need to throw  _ other  _ people out. And I guess… I missed having a friend.”

During her time of exile, that had been her greatest anguish; she had nobody to talk to. Sure, she had Safira and Taro, but they weren’t her  _ friends _ . They were people she cared for, looked after, but she didn’t have the flow of a friendship with them. She was more of a replacement mother to them.

Ameera made a grim. “Can’t you be friends with  _ them _ ?”

“I want to be their mother,” Padmé elaborated. “If I get to be friends with them, too, I’ll be the happiest person alive. But first, I am fighting to become their mother. And I’m scared enough that I won’t be able to win that battle.”

“And what is my role, as your friend, in this battle of yours?”

“Just, you know, be there for me,” Padmé said gracefully. “Stay by my side, walk with me to unpredictable family reunions, be your  _ mean  _ self to me… That’s everything you can do for me.”

Ameera seemed to consider it momentarily. “And in return…?”

“In return, I’ll be there for you as you fight your battles.”

Somehow, in that moment, that seemed enough.

* * *

When they finally reached the small corridor where Leia’s office was located, Padmé saw the ghost of her walking forwards as her body stayed behind. 

The door was slightly open, indicating that they were welcoming to her arrival — regardless of how unprepared she was. She stared at that gap like it haunted her, like it was going to harm her. She was terrified of it.

For the longest time, Ameera just joined her in the stare. Until she’d had enough. “Are we going to stay here forever?”

Padmé breathed in and breathed out, trying to calm her nerves. “I’m preparing myself.”

Ironically, she nodded. “For what? You’ve already been through the worse — telling them about your identity. And they’ve accepted you. All your fears and worries should have been left there with the revelation.”

“Half of them accepted it,” she corrected with a face.

“Isn’t that more than you were expecting when you came here?” Ameera prompted, leaning her weight into one leg only.

Padmé acknowledged her assertion with tilt of the head. “Except—humans are a greedy species. The more I get, the more I want. The more I spend with either of them, the more I want for our time to never to end.”

“Then, hm,” Ameera squinted her eyes in suspicion. “Why aren’t you there right now? Spending precious time with them?”

Ameera was right—Padmé hadn’t even realized she was contradicting herself. With a strong nod, she straightened her back. “Alright, then. I’m going in.”

She felt Ameera’s hand on her back, and it was uncertain whether her legs started working or if she had merely been given a shove by the Twi’lek. Probably the latter.

Padmé walked tall to the door, placing her hand over its metal surface to get it fully opened; however, she sound of a conversation and faint laughter from the other side froze her. The sound of two human beings,  _ siblings,  _ bonding, made her stop thinking.

_ “I can`t believe he’d do that!” _

_ “Can’t you? That’s exactly the sort of behavior you’d expect from him.” _

_ “You’re right—I can’t believe I wasn’t there to witness it with my own eyes.” _

_ “Oh, he was certainly relieved that you weren’t there. Hence why I’m here, so you can give him hell for it later.” _

_ “Trust me, that’s all he’s going to hear for the next week.” _

Padmé’s attention was pulled back from them by the sound of Ameera clearing her throat. When she looked back at the Twi’lek, she saw her with her thumbs up, proceeding with a gesture that she should get in. Ameera was right—it was rude to take part in a conversation that she hadn’t been welcomed to, and that was all it took her to slide the rest of the door open and walk in.

She couldn’t tell whether her face showed the disappointment that, as soon as she was seen, conversation and laughter ceased from existence. Prior to her arrival, they looked carefree, tuned in to nothing but each other — Luke was indecorously sitting on the desk, swinging one of his legs in the air, while Leia sat by the stool of the window, appreciating the chilly air of the night. That domestic image made her feel warm, but it was gone too fast for her to appreciate it properly.

“Hm, hello,” she greeted them awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. She couldn’t settle on which of them to look at, so she looked at neither. “The door was slightly open. I assumed it was alright for me to come in.”

“That’s exactly why we left it like that,” Luke said, with his chipper voice that made everything seem better. His feet made a noise when he jumped into the ground again, intending to walk towards her.

Padmé smiled as she saw him approaching her with open arms, giving her a quick hug and a kiss to the cheek, and her every worry was put to rest.

“Hello, mother—is it okay if I call you that?”

Leia fought every urge to roll her eyes. Sometimes, she couldn’t believe him! He had known Padmé for barely two days, and he was already having delusions of grandeur. In moments like this, she didn’t doubt that she had been the one to inherit all the brains during cell division. 

Had Padmé noticed the dirty glare coming from Leia, she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, her heart was full of love; she could feel the tears piling up in the corner of her eyes. It all felt like a dream that she had dreamed on Raada; it felt too perfect, so she was starting to doubt reality.

“Luke, I…” she was suddenly lost for words. She never thought she would be  _ this lucky.  _ “It would mean everything to me. But I want  _ you  _ to be comfortable with it.”

“I’ve been craving this moment all my life — I never thought I would get it! I’m not wasting any time, mother,” he smiled tenderly at her, and immediately after looked back to find his sister. “Leia, I don’t want you to feel pressured—”

“I don’t,” she cut him short, and didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for the expressions she got from both him and Padmé.

“ _ Anyway, _ ” Luke said strongly, intending for Leia to hear the repression behind his voice. “Please, take a seat.”

Padmé did as she was told, grabbing one of the chairs next to Leia’s desk, and changing its direction so she would only face the son, not the daughter. Padmé knew that Leia’s glare remained suspiciously on her, but blocking it out of her view came almost as a relief — as badly as it made her feel. 

“Mother, we called you here tonight because we have some pressing issue to discuss with you,” Luke said, taking the seat next to her. Maybe, unconsciously, he also wanted to escape Leia’s prying eyes. “And I’m afraid… This won’t be easy to hear.”

As scared as she was in that moment, Padmé nodded. “I understand. And I’m ready, for whatever it is. I’ll accept it. However, I would like to also tell you something, and I fear… I fear it might hurt you.”

Luke’s eyes widened, and he impetuously asked, “Are you going to leave me— _ us _ , I meant us.”

Had any of them been staring at her, they would have seen the silent snort that came from Leia.

“What?! No, Luke—I could never leave you,” Padmé assured, holding Luke’s gaze as well as his hands. Still, for the briefest of seconds, she also looked at Leia, wanting her to know that she was included in her narrative — no matter how little difference it made. “Unless you ask me to, I will never leave you again.”

To Luke, that made  _ all _ the difference.

“Oh, mother, I can promise you that I would  _ never  _ ask for such a thing. I’ve just gotten you back, after a whole life of not knowing of you. I want to treasure the rest of my lifetime with you.”

Padmé’s eyes sparkled; she didn’t even mind that he had prompted that she would live forever. “So… This isn’t what you called me for? To send me away?”

Luke frowned, “ _ No— _ Where did you get that from?”

Her silence and the sudden drop of her gaze to her own lap was enough of an answer to Leia. Leia crossed her arms over her chest, a strange feeling coming from inside of her; that was  _ not  _ the impression she wanted people to have of her. “I would  _ never _ get on the way of anybody’s happiness. Especially if that person is my brother, or my…”

She didn’t finish her sentence, but her message had been sent. She gave Padmé and Luke’s reunion all her blessing, and she was  _ happy  _ for them, so long as they didn’t try to force her into a relationship she didn’t want to have. Wasn’t ready to have.

“I’m sorry, Leia,” Padmé apologized in the earnest. “I don’t want to judge. This is new territory for me, too.”

But it wasn’t for Leia—she already  _ had  _ a mother. Why was everyone struggling to understand that?!

“Mother,” Luke interrupted, fearing either one of them would say something that they would potentially regret later. “What we need to tell you… It might break your heart, too.”

Padmé straightened her back, nodding — she was ready for it. There were little things that could hurt her anymore. “Whatever it is, I can take it.”

Luke wanted to tell her that she couldn’t — he hadn’t been able to,  _ Leia  _ hadn’t been able to; it was only natural that Padmé would collapse upon hearing the truth, too. Still, he knew he needed to go forward with it. They couldn’t be a family if the darkest part of their family was kept in the shadows.

“Padmé… Mother…” knowing that Leia wanted nothing to do with  _ him _ , he took the lead. “You said you were married to Anakin Skywalker. And Anakin Skywalker didn’t die all those years ago. He didn’t meet the fate of all the Jedi, because he was no longer a Jedi. Mother… Anakin fell to the dark side. The darkness swallowed him until there was nothing left, until he no longer was  _ Anakin Skywalker _ . He became a different man.

“He became Darth Vader.”

His words were as sharp as a knife cutting through thin air, and it brought the uncertainty of whether the blow had been fatal or not. Nothing else needed to be said; there were no explanations, no reasons to give on behalf of the dead man. All they could do was wait for Padmé to process that information.

Padmé had her eyes blankly staring at him — she was surprised, not regarding Anakin’s ultimate fate, but that the twins somehow had learned about his fall. She felt like laughing under the knowledge that she had also come there that night to tell them the truth about their father; instead, she only managed to gasp, “Oh.”

“ _ Oh _ ?” Leia’s emotions spoke ahead of her feelings. She didn’t care anymore; she had been repressing them for far too long now — and the Force knew how much she had to unleash. “That’s all you have to say? When you find out that the person you  _ fell in love with  _ was responsible for unbearable hatred and destruction? You don’t care at all?!”

Luke gave her an oppressing look, that didn’t even make her flinch. Her heart was pounding inside her chest, and her face was crossed, but, other than that — Leia resembled calm. It disturbed him.

Padmé didn’t take her reaction personally; it was clear that Leia still had some unfinished business with Vader, and only herself would be able to work around it. She rose to her feet, all but forgotten of Luke in front of her, and turned around to face the daughter in the background. “ _ No _ , Leia. The knowledge of whom my late husband become breaks my heart. It brings me an insufferable pain, because I knew him, and I saw all the good he had inside with my own eyes. My reaction doesn’t come from a lack of empathy for all his wrongs, but because I already  _ knew _ .”

Padmé remained peaceful; she might have not known Leia at all, but she did know her kind. She was a diplomat, she responded to words and logic — losing her patience over such a matter would most likely lead Leia to dismiss any respect she had for Padmé, either on her status as a person or as a  _ mother _ .

Even if they were still far, far away from that word.

Padmé felt Luke’s hand on her back; it was unclear whether he was comforting over her sadness of seeing Anakin become Vader, or for his sister’s sudden accusation. Either way, she leaned back into his touch. Luke was the kindest, most considerate person she had ever met; his presence alone made her feel warm.

“How long did you intend to keep that from us?” Leia carried on, having no mercy to give. She stared deeply into Padmé’s eyes, with an intensity that she would make anyone uncomfortable. “Did you come here with the intention to hide the truth from us forever? Because Anakin was  _ good _ , and that is all that matters?”

“I don’t see how it’d matter, considering that you both already knew of his fall,” Padmé argued, keeping a gentle expression on her face. “I would never diminish the man that Anakin become, and that’s what I came here, tonight, to tell you.”

Had Leia considered her explanation, she showed no signs of. 

“How long have you known, Padmé?” Luke interrupted their discourse, until the mother was looking at him again. In his eyes, there was no accusation of her alleged ulterior motives; instead, he looked genuinely curious.

“Ever since his fall,” Padmé spoke quietly. Sure, the realization had only come to her a little after her death had been faked, but she knew — deep down, she knew. She had seen him fall, she had been there, and she chose to believe he had died so she wouldn’t have to bear with the consequences of his turning. Until it was impossible to deny his existence, and she had been left to mourn the person he once had been only. 

“I’m sorry, mother,” he was flicking between names to call her — it still felt so strange on his tongue! — but she didn’t seem to mind. “Bearing the truth of his fall and having no one to talk to is a despicable sentiment. Having accepted his identity is proof of how strong you are.”

For the first time in that evening, Leia looked down on her feet. Although she wasn’t the stranger on the room, in that moment, she felt like it. She remained the only who hadn’t accepted her bloodline to Vader, who refuted any ties she might have had to him. Luke and Padmé had both achieved a peace of spirit in knowing that Anakin had become Vader, but she — she couldn’t do it, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She envied them for being able to discern the two personas apart, but she would never be able to. She would never forgive him.

“What… What about you?” Padmé was shy to ask him. “How did you come to learn about it? I didn’t think anyone other than Palpatine and I knew about it.”

Luke brought his hand to the back of his neck. They both were so focused on each other it would seem they had forgotten about Leia’s presence behind them. “Vader… Vader told me, when I confronted him, one year ago. We had been fighting, and it hadn’t been pretty for me. He had hurt me badly, he had cut off my hand and… I thought he was going to kill me. Instead, he told me the worst thing I could have ever hoped to hear: that he was my father.”

Hearing the pain behind Luke’s voice — it broke her heart. A being so full of light who carried so much terror inside,  _ because of her _ . Of course, she wouldn’t trade his existence for anything, but she wished there was something she could do to ease his suffering.

Padmé reached out for one of his hand, unsure whether it was the one that had been stolen from him, and brought his knuckles to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss to them. “I am  _ so  _ sorry, Luke. It hurts me to know that he deliberately harmed you when he already knew of your blood connection to him. I wish I could ease your pain, that I could erase his doings, but seeing you here, right now, makes me so proud.  _ You’re  _ the strong one.”

Luke smiled tenderly with his lips closed; he had never felt  _ so loved  _ his entire life. He had never doubted Aunt Beru’s love for him, or even Uncle Owen’s, but this… It  _ felt  _ different. Padmé was under no obligation to love him; yet, she did. “My strength comes from  _ you _ , mother.”

Padmé tightened her grasp over his hand, thankful for his small confession of love — when did she  _ ever  _ dream she would get this lucky? However, half of her heart stayed behind, with the young girl who refused to join them in their reunion.

“Leia,” Padmé cried, looking back at her while still holding Luke’s hand. She noticed that the princess was no longer watching over them with suspicion, instead, she looked at some random point to the opposite side of them. Padmé was confused with the sudden change in her behavior; had she said or done something to trigger that reaction? Had her words hurt the princess?

She didn’t ask her any of that, though. Leia did not trust her enough to share any matters of the heart with her, so she chose to stick with facts and figures. “When did you learn of Vader, Leia?”

Like a stubborn child, Leia refused to answer. She remained perfectly still in her frame, staring into the horizon, allegedly disconnected with the rest of the world. Maybe, just maybe, if she declined the answer, if she stood before her blood relative and denied her connection to  _ him _ , it would be enough to break her free.

If only Luke didn’t spoke for her in her silence. “I told Leia a few days ago. After I learned of our kinship.”

Padmé slowly walked towards Leia, her and Luke’s hands remaining connected until their distance grew too big. She didn’t approach the daughter too close; she didn’t know where Leia’s mindset was at, or if she had even noticed Padmé coming, and she didn’t want to startle her. 

“It’s still fresh for you,” she spoke heavily, noticing that the mere sound of her voice, close to her, made Leia shiver. “You still have to come to terms with it.”

“Why?” Leia frowned at the assertion, and she looked at Padmé with disbelief. “Why do I  _ ever  _ need to come to terms with it? I don’t think either of you understand how  _ much  _ I hate him. If he’s not my father, if I deny him any kinship, then I don’t have to come to terms with something that won’t affect me.”

Padmé nodded, understanding, and Leia’s stare left her again. “I think you’re mistaken, Leia. I don’t mean to speak over your feelings, but I think it affects you more than you’re willing to admit. I think you’re badly hurting inside.”

“What gave that away,” Leia ridiculed with a mocking laugh. “There’s not a soul in the galaxy that I hate more than Vader. Knowing that he’s my progenitor  _ hurts _ , and I’ll never forgive him for that.”

Padmé wasn’t sure whether Leia’s last comment was meant to strike her, but it did, regardless of how badly Padmé tried to hide it from her face. If Leia blamed him, then it was logical that she would blame Padmé, too — and it hurt like a blow to her heart. Did Leia honestly wish she hadn’t been born at all, rather than to come from  _ him _ ? That thought, then, made Padmé worry, and she was all but forgotten about her comment. Suddenly, she was nervous that Leia might just something to harm herself. Intentionally or not.

“You’re more than your bloodline to him, Leia,” Padmé assured, but wasn’t sure she had been heard.

“Tell me, then,” Leia spoke up, with fire on her eyes, “Would  _ you  _ be able to forgive him? Knowing everything he’s done to the galaxy? After learning everything he did to your  _ son _ ?”

Leia saw Luke opening his mouth to interfere, but the look she gave him was enough to silence him. She only cared for Padmé’s answer.

And her answer might just set the base of whatever relationship they would grow to have.

Padmé’s face all but fell. She wouldn’t lie, she had spent countless nights wide awake in bed thinking about that precise question; trying to understand how she felt about Anakin, about Darth Vader,  _ struggling  _ to accept her own feelings towards the matter.

Because she hated she answer she had to give as much as Leia would.

“If Anakin ever came back to me,” Padmé threaded carefully, holding Leia’s gaze as if that would make a difference, “I would forgive him a heartbeat.”

Padmé thought she had been ready for Leia’s reaction, but she had never been so wrong. Seeing the princess retreat, far back into the wall, trying to get as far away from Padmé as possible — it made her feel like the worst person alive. 

There was genuine fear in her eyes; unconsciously, Leia made herself as small as possible — just like she did upon seeing Darth Vader entering her detention block on the Death Star. She didn’t think she would ever feel that scared again, but knowing that someone was capable of forgiving  _ that monster _ — it terrified her.

“Don’t come near me,” Leia pledged with a small voice, once Padmé tried to approach her again,  _ despite  _ Leia’s obvious attempt of just getting away from her. She shook her head several times, apprehension written all over her face. “Why? How can you forget every bad thing Anakin did and forgive him?!”

“I, hm, Anakin and Darth Vader are two different people,” for the first time, Luke dared to enter their discussion. He doubted his argument would make him gain any points with Leia, but she — and Padmé — needed to learn to discern the two figures. “And, hm, Anakin did come back. In the end, he came back.”

Padmé abruptly turned to him — she hadn’t forgotten about how terribly she needed to repair her non existential relationship with Leia, but something of a far greater significance had caught her attention. Had she heard correctly? Could that actually be true?

“Anakin…” the words were hard to come out, “Anakin came back? He found the light again?”

In his eagerness, Luke ran to her, unable to contain his smile any longer. “It’s true! There was still good in him, I felt it, I  _ saw  _ it. In his final moments, he chose to do good. If it weren’t for him, I would have been dead. Palpatine would have killed me, but Vader… Vader saved me. Anakin redeemed himself, and because of his goodness, I am here today.”

Padmé raised both her hands to her face — she couldn’t believe it! For years,  _ years,  _ she had dreamed of him finding himself again; she had dreamed of the two of them together again, raising their child together. All those scenarios had been impossible, of course, but those dreams helped her stay alive. And to know that she had been right, that there still had been good in him… It made all the difference. Her eyes were glossy in her commotion — and here she’d thought that her life couldn’t get any more perfect after being reunited with the twins!

Leia couldn’t believe the scene unfolding before her eyes. Was she the only sane person in the room? Was she the only one who  _ remembered _ ? Until then, Luke hadn’t told her about his fight with Vader and the Emperor; she was just learning of the exact events that took place in the second Death Star. She supposed she could spare an ounce of gratitude for the terrible man for saving her brother from imminent death — she was  _ certain  _ that she wouldn’t be able deal with losing him, after everything else that she had lost — but to think anyone would be  _ so stupid  _ to forget everything that came before—

“Bullshit,” she mumbled under her breath, not expecting herself to be heard, only needing to let it out. Her chest was rapidly raising and falling, she felt so uncomfortable to be there; the idea that her kinship would so blindly praise Anakin was making her sick to her stomach.

Despite her best effort, she had indeed been heard. Luke and Padmé abruptly ceased all their celebrations and turned to face her. “I beg your pardon?”

Before, she hadn’t been looking at them. She had learned that not having them in her field of vision helped her not to lose her temper, but, upon being called again, she gathered all the anger that fueled her and glared deep into their eyes. “Bull,” she emphasized, “Shit.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Leia,” Luke argued with a stern face. “You weren’t there. You never  _ met  _ Anakin. You didn’t see him returning to the light and  _ god _ —it was beautiful.”

Leia clenched her fists in rage; if she stood in front of a mirror, she would be able to see the vein popping on her forehead. “One good deed doesn’t redeem all the terror he has caused. He doesn’t  _ deserve  _ to be forgiven.”

Luke launched himself towards her, but Padmé stopped him with her arm. “You have every right to feel the way you do, Leia. We aren’t trying to erase your feelings.”

“Aren’t you?” Leia arched one of her brows. “Isn’t this supposed to be a little Vader celebration party?”

Although he respected Padmé’s blockage, he shook his head in repression. “You’re making slight of this only because you don’t  _ understand _ . You’re not strong in the Force as of now, you didn’t feel the breath of life flowing through the Force once he came back.”

His comment about her vulnerability in the Force didn’t bother her as much as he judged it would. Leia couldn’t care less about the Force; she despised any source of power that concentrated over one being and allowed them to reign the galaxy. That kind of unlimited power was terrifying in any person’s hands, no matter how good their intentions might have been. Power corrupted even the best of people. 

“No,” Leia breathed in a long breath to regain her composure, or whatever was left of it. “I don’t think anybody here understands as well as I do. I’m the only one who hasn’t met Anakin Skywalker, I’m the only one who doesn’t have my mind clouded by his  _ goodness.  _ Apparently, I’m the only who remembers him for whom he  _ is _ .”

Luke crossed his arms like a spoiled child who got their candy denied. “If you’re going to be speaking like that, then address him for whom he is:  _ Darth Vader,  _ not Anakin.”

Leia rolled her eyes, too nonchalant to rebuke his statement.

Padmé never felt as awkward as to stand between the twins in the middle of their quarrel; she wondered if that was what motherhood felt like. She didn’t think motherhood would be an easy hard, but she judged it would be a slightly harder task when it came to  _ twins.  _

If they were already giving her a headache at the age of 23, she couldn’t bear to imagine the amount of trouble they would get themselves into as children just to get on her nerves.

“I think,” she started, having each of her hands directed at one of her children, in a peace offering sign, “We’ve all had a long day, and we’ve faced some truths that we’re not ready to deal with. Why don’t we all call it a day?”

Luke momentarily looked away in disapproval, but soon after he let his head fall down in concession. Leia didn’t much as yield; instead, she simply broke eye contact with both of them and  _ hoped  _ they would simply disappear. 

When neither of the siblings said a word, Padmé lowered her arms and made herself tall — they had listened to her, she felt like a proud mother after finally being able to put her children to bed. “We’ll sleep on it, and start again tomorrow with a fresher mind,” she said looking at Luke, and then, she turned to Leia, “Or, if you’d prefer, we don’t have to talk about this at all. Ever again.”

Luke was repelled at the mere idea, and his face showed his abomination evidently, to which Padmé responded with a scolding glare — it was enough to smooth his expression. Although there was only reprimand on her face, Padmé was slightly proud at herself for being able to handle the two of them during a crisis.

Of course—they weren’t children anymore, but two grown up adults more than capable of dealing with their own issues. Sure—she might have a place on Luke’s life, but there were no guarantees of a solid stance for her on Leia’s life. Still—it felt good. She was making up for lost time.

“You’re right,” Luke said after a few moments of a tense silence. He waited for Leia to acknowledge his assertion — or acknowledge him at all! — but she never budged. Like she had completely detached herself from the sphere they were in. 

Luke all but pushed Padmé aside in order to reach Leia. Yet, he was careful to approach her, slowly entering her personal space and making himself seen — she was genuinely startled when she noticed him there, and smiled shyly at him for her sudden erratic behavior.

Padmé watched from the distance as he lovingly placed his hand on her shoulder, and she immediately tensed beneath his touch, but soon relaxed when she realized it was  _ him  _ standing there, nobody else. He lowered his head to her ear and whispered something Padmé couldn’t hear, and Leia delicately smiled and laughed at him. She was amazed, to say the least, at how quickly they had made amends after an argument powerful enough to leave them mad at each other for at least a few days.

That made her realize for the first time—they had nobody. Only each other. 

Well, she had no grounds to make that allegation. She didn’t  _ know  _ them. She wanted to, she was  _ going  _ to, if everything worked out on her way. However, so far, she had no knowledge of their lives, of their personal history, of the little quirks that made them who they were. Yet—when she looked at them, with their unconditional caring for each other, her heart told her one thing only: they were all alone.

The realization—assumption, really—nearly broke her heart.

If only they would understand that she was all alone, too, and, together, they had the chance to start something beautiful.

“I love you,” Luke told Leia strongly, with a conviction Padmé hadn’t heard coming from him before, not even when he jumped to the conclusion that she was his birth mother. Padmé grinned slightly at the scene in front of her; nothing would ever come between the two of them, not even Padmé herself — and that was how it was supposed to be.

For the first time in a while, Leia stared at Luke’s eyes; like she needed to see the veracity in them. Only then, she returned with a tone that matched his own, “I love you too, Luke.”

It was a relief to know that, even when they were tearing each other’s head off, they could still count on one another for anything.

Luke turned back and slowly made his way to the door, having Padmé immediately follow after him. He was about to leave, but he froze after he quickly gazed over his shoulder and noticed Leia hadn’t moved. “You coming, Leia?”

“Hm?” it took her a few milliseconds to sync to the meaning to his words. “No, I… I’ll stay here for a little longer. I have work to do.”

“You work too much, Leia,” Luke reprimanded, as if his lecture would make any difference. “Besides, I thought you hadn’t gotten any sleep last night.”

She shot him a death look, to which he grimaced — that was the last thing she wanted Padmé to learn. “I have a few things I need to check on. It won’t be long. You go ahead, I’ll retire in a few minutes.”

When he didn’t seem to buy her argument, Leia was obliged to add, “I  _ promise _ .”

He held her stare for a while, in his brotherly way of saying  _ if you break your promise, I will be very angry and sad,  _ and Leia had to fight the urge to roll her eyes at him.

* * *

It was no more then two in the morning when Padmé gave up trying to sleep. She had been tossing and turning in bed all night long, occasionally drifting into sleep, but never remaining asleep for too long.

Afraid her state of inquietude would disturb the Twi’lek sleeping in the cot next to her, she decided to go for a stroll around the base. She had no destination in mind, nowhere to be nor nowhere to go, and she couldn’t explain how her unconscious walking had led her to Leia’s office — but it did.

The light was on and the door was half open, like Luke had left it a few hours ago. It provided the perfect frame for Padmé to see that Leia was still there, sitting behind her desk. She had her head resting on the palm of her head, and from the way she was fixated on the datapad in front of her, Padmé concluded she was deeply concentrated on her reading.

Padmé struggled with what to do next; she  _ wanted  _ to go in, if only to be next to her, but she wasn’t sure Leia was keen on seeing her,  _ especially  _ when she hadn’t had the chance to sleep on all the things they had talked about. Her brain and her heart were telling her two opposite things, and—come to think about it, she was tired of listening to her brain only.

She knocked softly, but didn’t wait for any response before pushing the remaining of the door open. And just like that, she regretted everything.

Leia nearly jumped at the disruption, and Padmé felt so stupid and selfish. Leia hadn’t been immersed in her reading, she had fallen  _ asleep.  _ Right there, just like that, and Padmé had gotten on her way. Well, maybe, her presence there was all it took Leia to finally cave in and go to bed. Padmé could concede to that. 

Leia looked at her with wild eyes, and, for the first time since they had met, she seemed to be out of words. She had been caught in her most vulnerable state, by nobody else then the woman she distrusted the most.

Not wanting to leave things awkward, Padmé cleared her throat, “You, hm, you told your brother you were going to bed several hours ago.”

The comeback was on the tip of her tongue —  _ you’re not my mother  _ — but there was no reason why Leia shouldn’t remain civil. “You’re not going to tell him.”

For a while, Padmé thought she was trying to pull that old Jedi mind trick on her; she even considered going with it. Once she remembered the princess wasn’t mastered in the Jedi arts, she was highly curious with what she meant. “Why’s that?”

“Because,” Leia leaned back on her seat, making herself comfortable, “You’re trying to build a good rapport with me, whether I like it or not. You don’t need my brother’s approval, since you’re already on his good praises — although that isn’t something  _ too  _ hard to be, since my brother likes everyone. Because of that, you don’t feel the need to preserve a relationship with Luke, it’s going to flourish either way. The only concern on your mind is me, and how to get on  _ my  _ good graces. So, you’re not going to do anything that potentially hurts whatever odds we have of constructing a relationship at all.”

Frankly, Padmé wouldn’t rat on her because she didn’t think it was the right thing to do, but Leia’s analysis made her wonder if, unconsciously, that had been her exact reasoning.

Leia carried on, “Also, you’re a woman, and, as a woman, I’m sure you’ve noticed there aren’t that many of us hanging around. You understand the importance of our unity, so you wouldn’t betray my trust, not even with your own son.”

Padmé pouted with her lips. “You’re absolutely right.”

Leia scoffed, surprised that she had agreed with everything, and then, returned her attention to her datapad. If she pretended she was returning to the work she had been reading before, maybe Padmé would discard the idea of her having fallen asleep there. And, potentially, leave her alone again. 

“Can I sit here with you?” Padmé asked humbly, and tried to give a reason as soon as she saw Leia opening her mouth to protest. “I won’t disturb you. I want to be in your presence without the burden of having to carry a conversation. I just want to coexist.”

From the way Padmé saw it, there were only two alternatives — Leia would either excuse herself saying it was time she headed to bed, or she would concede to her request. Either way, it felt like a win.

And Leia took the most of her time to form a decision, until she finally opened her palm towards the chair in the opposite side of the desk. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Padmé beamed brightly at the concession as she sat down. She didn’t even settle with her stare on the daughter, instead looking out at the window. She chose to focus on the sound of Leia’s breathing, on her heavy exhales, on her tongue clicking, on nails against her skin.

Little things that would, maybe, remind Padmé of what was like to finding home in somebody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're lurking this story and would maybe feel like dropping a comment, you'd be making me the happiest person alive hehe :)


	10. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is for all the hanleias out there :D

“Is that a new dress?”

Leia blushed instantaneously at Han’s comment, feeling self conscious like she hadn't before. Although she was already starting to think it had been a bad idea, he had just confirmed it. Looking down on herself, a little embarrassed, she wrapped her arms around her torso.

Han walked towards her. He had just come out of duty, and his first stop had been the small comfort of her private quarters, where his first sight was of her looking like  _ that.  _ “You look beautiful, Leia.”

Albeit it hadn't been his intention, he only made her blush more intensely. But she did smile, still keeping her eyes down. “You think so?”

Han grabbed her hands, encouraging her to uncross her arms under the pretense that he wanted to get a better look at her. “Not that you aren’t beautiful every moment of every day, but this dress…  _ damn _ .”

Leia was wearing a beige dress down to her ankles, its color perfectly matching the tone of her skin. The pleated skirt was loose and it gave her legs the same freedom that her spirit possessed. The tight waistline accentuated her hips, and the scoop neck emphasized her collar bones. It wasn’t anything like her daily attire, and it emphasized her natural beauty.

Her lips curved up in a chuckle with his remark — he was just so…  _ him _ .

“I don’t know, maybe I should change,” Leia reasoned, raising her hand to her still undone hair. She was anxious, he knew, no matter how badly she tried to conceal it. “I don’t want to give the wrong impression.”

“That you’re beautiful? I’m afraid it’s too late for that, sweetheart.”

Her laughter became carefree; she couldn’t explain the kind of power he had over her, of always being able to make her feel better, of always making her spirits lighten up when she only saw darkness within herself. He was her  _ relief. _

She was supposed to meet Padmé and Luke for dinner that night. Upon hearing the invitation earlier that day, she did her best to refute it — she didn’t  _ want  _ to, she dreaded the idea of spending an entire evening with the woman who had loved Anakin, and forgiven him — but Luke had looked so heartbroken at her refusal that she reluctantly caved in. Leia couldn’t tell why he was so fixated on the idea of the three of them becoming a  _ family,  _ when she had already given him her blessing to enjoy Padmé’s motherhood so long as he didn’t drag her with him; but she despised even further seeing those she loved hurt, especially when  _ she  _ had been the cause for their sadness.

And Luke knew exactly how to win her over.

“Why are you dressing up for her?” Han genuinely asked, understanding the nature of Leia’s feelings for the unfamiliar familiar woman. “I thought you weren’t looking too forward for tonight.”

“I’m not, but…” it was silly, she felt silly for her motives. She sighed, “You wouldn’t understand.”

That afternoon, after long hours of meetings with the High Council, she decided to simply call it a day. She was tired of working, she was exhausted from giving everything she had to give for the cause, every minute of every day. So, she chose to do something radical, something she hadn’t done in a very long time: she left the rebellion base and traveled to a nearby City District, one she used to often visit during her adolescence, and she did the most mundane thing she had in mind. She bought a dress.

It felt silly, because it had been so long that she had done something for herself that it seemed like she wasn’t allowed to anymore. It felt stupid, because Coruscant was still occupied by Imperial tropes and she had willingly risked her life for a piece of clothing. And, above all, it felt  _ good.  _

She had forgotten how much joy and self confidence she could obtain from the frivolous act of buying a pretty dress.

“Try me,” Han insisted, brushing his fingers lightly over her wrists.

“There are so many men around the base,” she confessed with a small voice, unable to look at him in the face. “And, as a woman in a position of power,  _ men  _ tend to belittle me, mock my status, disrespect me. They hate me for being superior to them. Unless, of course, I step down to their level and dress like a man, act like a man, wear my hair up like a man, so they’ll at least hear what I need to say. I guess… I guess I was tired of that. I guess I missed feeling like a girl.”

With his heart on his throat, he lowered his gaze in shame. He didn’t doubt the veracity of her words; Han himself had heard the things the rebels said about her, about the _Ice Princess_ behind her back, and not often enough he had stepped in in her defense. Of course, Leia could very well look after herself, but it _infuriated_ him; however, he hadn’t considered it aggravated her as well, considering she had never looked so bothered about it. He sighed, “Men are stupid. I’m sorry they’ve made you feel this way, and… if I ever made you feel this way.”

Leia pressed her lips on a thin life, and placed her hand on his cheek. Their roles inverted and he lost the courage to gaze at her eyes. “Over the years, you’ve driven me insane in ways I can’t begin to describe, but never for that, Han. You’ve always treated me for the person I am, not for my titles, or for the person you wanted me to be. And that’s just one of the many reasons why I love you.”

He chuckled smugly at her comment, and it was enough to reassure his spirits. He brought his hand to meet hers over his face and said, “Well, now that the war is all but over, I hope you’ll feel more comfortable being  _ you _ again,” he leaned close to her ear and whispered, “You look way too good in dresses.”

Leia laughed freely, and, suddenly feeling more comfortable with herself, she raised herself on her tiptoes and stole a kiss from his lips. Han was caught by surprise; she wasn’t the one to act on her feelings while having something else pressing in the back of her mind — such as the promise of a dinner where  _ everything  _ could go wrong. Still, he wasn’t the one to ever deny her affection, so he pulled her closer and deepened their kiss, while rubbing his hands on the curves of her waist.

Leia closed her eyes, feeling tingles of anticipation running down her spine. Her legs were weak beneath her, she relied on his hold completely to remain steady. She was so  _ relieved  _ to have him back in her life; she had missed him, she had missed his touch, she had missed being so near to him they were close to becoming one.

Above all, she had missed the intimacy of being her most private self to him.

A soft cry escaped her and Han took it as a sign to further his touch. His hand descended from her waist to her inner thigh, looking for her skin, searching for the depths of her that only he was allowed to see. Being there, next to her, holding her so close to him — he knew he was the luckiest person in the entire galaxy for having the chance of loving her.

After all, that was his only purpose in life. Giving her all of his love. 

He lowered his kisses from her lips to the nape of her neck, and she shivered under his touch. His hand had found his way to the underline of her waist, and he passionately caressed the skin of her back, counting the vertebrae that had been sculpted by the gods themselves. “Han—”

He hummed in acknowledgement, but didn’t stop his motions. Instead, he gently dug his fingernails into her hidden skin, while his other hand traveled through the tangles of her loose hair. He craved her, he craved  _ loving  _ her. They had had so little time together, and then Bespin happened, and Jabba happened, and Endor happened, and he just wanted to love her—

Leia abruptly broke from him, pushing him away from her. She nearly tripped on her new dress as she got away from him, her pulse throbbing on her throat and her forehead sweating. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe—

“Leia?” he tenderly cried her name, confused as he had been left behind, watching her all but run away from him. Han had no idea what had just happened, or why she suddenly stood on her back to him, looking so much smaller than he thought possible — and he didn’t know how to  _ assist  _ her.

She took both her hands to her face, only then realizing they were trembling. She couldn’t understand what was happening to her, or why her eyes stung, or why was she biting down on her lips so badly they were close to drawing blood. She buried her face on her palms, hiding herself completely from whomever dared to look at her, and the sound of her voice became muffed, “I’m sorry, Han, I… I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head vigorously, even if their position didn’t allow her to see it. Like her, he breathed in and out heavily, trying to contempt his worry so he wouldn’t scare her further away. “There’s nothing to apologize for. You hear me, Leia?  _ Nothing. _ ”

A little startled by the sudden harshness of his voice, she sniffed, trying to hold herself together. She was aware that he meant no harm, that he was simply terrified because she was  _ scaring  _ him, and she hated herself for it. She was tired of feeling afraid, and having those she loved feeling afraid. “It’s just… It’s too soon. I’m not ready,” she confessed, desperately, anxiously, and nobody but herself was making her feel that way. Han was acting like the perfect gentleman, and she was…  _ glitching _ .

He looked at the scene in front of him, and his only wish was to run towards her and wrap her in her arms and never let her go, in a silent promise that he would never allow any harm to haunt her ever again. He wouldn’t, though, not unless she explicitly asked him to, even if it took everything from him to stand back and do nothing.

“I understand, Leia,” he spoke with firmness, because he  _ needed  _ her to listen to him. Unfortunately, he didn’t have to think too hard to know the reasons of her sudden retreat, and a wave of uneasiness washed over him. “What happened on Jabba’s palace… It’s not something easy to forget, to move on from. It breaks my heart to see you like this, hurting this much, and I’ll be here every step of the way while you work on getting better, but you’re not supposed to do it for me. Only for yourself, on your own terms.”

Leia forced herself to swallow her cry — _ damn him _ , with his lack of prolixity and his questionable dexterity to say exactly what she needed to hear. She swallowed her cry, and sat down by the edge of her bed, wrinkling the dress she wore, as she no longer cared for it. She breathed in and out several times, trying to find the right words to say — if they existed. “I… I never told you what happened on Jabba’s palace.”

“No,” he buried his hands deep into the pockets of his pants, uncomfortable, and his stare fell to his feet. “I worked for Jabba, Leia..”

He hadn’t said much, but she understood very well the implication behind his words. He had worked for Jabba, he knew exactly the kind of vile things the crime lord was capable of doing — he didn’t need her to tell him anything to have a clear picture of her struggles. With her hand still hiding her mouth, she nodded. She didn’t know whether that was supposed to come to her as a source of comfort or not; if he knew, then she would never need to tell him herself. If he knew, that meant he didn’t think less of her and he still chose to be  _ with  _ her. If he knew, then he was aware of the things she had undergone, and she didn’t want anybody to picture her like that. So weak and defenseless.

That wasn’t her. That wasn’t the woman she had grown to be, after losing so much and surviving so much. She only desired to stop feeling like so.

“Leia?” he called her name again, once her silence became too excruciating for him to bear. “I’m sorry.”

She was confused. If there was anybody who should be apologizing, it was her. For living in the past and being so broken that she couldn’t move on. 

“A lot of things had to take place so you’d find yourself in that position,” he said, and guilt was hearable in his voice; she was certain she would see it in his face too, had she had the strength to look at him. “I was responsible for every one of those things.”

“Han—” she tried, but her voice betrayed her before any of her thoughts could come out. “It’s not your fault, Han.”

There was a pause of hesitancy, until he dared, “It’s not yours, either,” and she wondered if he had only brought it up so he could emphasize that.

She leaned her elbows on her thighs, closing her eyes. They didn’t stay closed for long, though, as her mind was flooded with bad memories that usually only haunted her at night; it was too early for her day to be ruined by them. “I know, Han. I know.”

He nodded, although he wasn’t exactly convinced. Reluctantly, he walked a few steps towards her, but she was so caught up in her own mindset he doubted she had noticed him. So, he asked, “Can I… Can I sit next to you?”

Leia froze within herself. What was wrong with her?! That was the man she loved, the man who loved  _ her;  _ the person she had risked her life to save and would willingly do it again. She wasn’t scared of him, then why was she acting that way? “I…”

Her hesitation was enough to stop him where he was. “It’s okay. I’ll just stay here,” he spoke slowly and dropped himself to the floor without any ceremony, sitting there without any decor. “So you’ll know that I’m here, with you, and that’s the only place you’ll ever find me.”

She turned her face to the opposite side of where he stood, hiding herself completely from him, so he wouldn’t see the glimpse of tears threatening to leave her eyes — and succeeding. His words made all the difference, they made her feel safe and loved, and she couldn’t explain how they had triggered the urge to let all of her emotions out.

“I’m not leaving you, Leia,” he promised again, his eyes fixated on her small figure. Paying close attention to her, to her every trait and her every move, silently praying to the gods he didn’t believe in that she would feel better soon. That she would find her strength again soon.

The strength that had never left her, but, somehow, only he could see.

He saw her the back of her head traveling up and down, and that made him slightly more relieved — she believed him. He didn’t say anything else, and minutes became eternities as he waited for her to find herself again.

Leia pulled her legs up, not caring for the mess her new dress was becoming. She counted the tears that rolled down her cheek, and forced them to stop before the count surpassed the number of times she had kissed him ever since he came back into her life. She  _ refused  _ to have her sadness become more grandeur than her reasons to be happy. She had him, she had her brother, and that should be enough.

Why, then, did it feel like it wasn’t?

She grabbed her loose hair and twisted it to her side. It was still slightly damp from the shower she had taken, and it left wet stains on the bust of her dress. She didn’t care anymore. To hell with dinner, to hell with the mother begging her for attention and the brother craving for a proper, traditional family. She didn’t care about any of it anymore.

Honestly, she just wanted to sleep. To finally catch a good night of sleep; free of nightmares from the death star, or from Alderaan’s destruction, or from Han being frozen in carbonite, or from what she had endured on Jabba’s palace. She wanted to sleep safe and sound again as she did on the palace of Alderaan, where no harm could ever find her.

She struggled with the notion she would never sleep that peacefully again.

When she finally gathered her strength to look at him again, she found him with a concerned gaze that she had never seen before. Not even flying in an asteroids field had made him look so worried. She tried to smile, a sad smile, but she wasn’t sure of how successful she had been.

Closing her fists momentarily, she sorted the last of the bad thoughts on her mind and shyly opened her hand to him. He was surprised, scared to take her hand; but he did, and held it tight.

“Thank you for being here.”

Han wanted to offer her a smile, but he didn’t know if it was safe to smile, so he only gave her a firm nod. He noticed how her nose was pink, and how her eyes were glossy, and how she was fighting with herself to sustain their eye contact.

“Always.”

She chuckled soundless at him, and ran the back of her free hand against her cheeks, weeping the tarrying teardrops away. “I promise I won’t always be like this. I’ll get better, I promise.”

Han crawled towards her, leaning closer to the dangling skirt of her dress, while remaining down in the floor. “You’re the strongest person I know, Leia, I know you’ll overcome this. I just want  _ you _ to know that you’re not invalid, or unworthy, or weak for feeling like this. Nobody will think any less of you for it.”

Leia laughed sardonically at herself. “I can’t say the same about me.”

He didn’t find her self deprecating remark funny, but knew better than to lecture her for it. “You’re not a superhero, Leia.”

She swallowed hard, looking down on her lap again. He silently damned himself for saying something that would make her shut herself off again, but he didn’t regret it. She needed to understand that it was only human of her to hurt. More importantly, she needed to understand that he wouldn’t leave her for being flawed, therefore, she should feel comfortable lowering her defenses to him.

Because it was a very lonely road to have no one with whom she could be vulnerable.

And he wanted to be that person for her. The Force knew that that was what she meant to him.

“I just…” she struggled to find the words, and that bothered him the most. Leia always had something to say. “I’m exhausted, Han.”

He brought her hand close to him, holding it against his moist lips. “You’re not getting enough sleep.”

“No, it’s not…” she blew a buff of air between her lips, “My mind is exhausting me. Luke is exhausting me. My  _ mother _ is…”

He didn’t miss the disdain with which she referred to her birth mother, but chose not to focus on it. He used her hand as pillow to lay his head on the bed and look up at her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

That was the thing that troubled her the most — Leia relied on her words for everything; they were the essence of her being and her greatest weapon. She hurt to know that, out of everything in her life, words chose to betray her. She simply shook her head, nervously pulling on the skirts of her dress.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk if you’re not ready,” Han reassured, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb, “But I think you should. I think it’d help you come to terms with everything that happened. The burdens of the war aren’t easy to carry, and you’ve been through a lot ever since… the  _ Death Star, _ ” he said those words with repulse, “I’m not saying you should talk to me, just… to someone.”

Leia nodded. She knew he was right, but if she couldn’t trust  _ him  _ with her darkest burdens, she didn’t think there would be anyone else she’d be comfortable enough to pour her heart out. All the people she wanted to talk to, her father, her mother, her aunts — they were no longer there. “I wish…”

He raised his head to properly look at her when she stopped talking mid sentence. He didn’t encourage her to talk, only joined her in her silence.

“I wish,” she tried to make her voice stronger, “I wish my mother was still here. My  _ real  _ mother. I miss her everyday, but… I’ve never needed her guidance more than now. She would know what to do. She would know… how to fix me.”

“You’re not broken, Leia,” he said, and Leia all but scoffed — maybe she should try listening to that assertion; after all, she had heard it from both him and Luke in the span of a few of days only.

When she remained quiet, he carried on, “I know it’s not the same, but you should try giving Padmé a chance. I  _ know  _ she’s not your mother, but she’s still  _ a  _ mother. She’s also a woman, and maybe that’s what you need the most right now.”

His comment made her shiver. She refuted the idea of ever becoming Padmé’s daughter, but even more so — she would hate for the woman who had carried her in her womb, that had one day unconditionally loved her to know of all the terrors she had gone through. Neither did she want to give the image that she was nothing more than a weak, traumatized person.

Even if that was all that she felt.

“I can’t talk about this to a person that I barely know, Han,” she argued, “It’s too… Humiliating.”

“Whatever happened, Leia, it doesn’t diminish you as a person,” Han said fiercely; although he still held her hand, it was completely loose within his hold. 

Leia smiled with the corner of her lips. It was sweet, how devoted he was to making her feel normal again —  _ he  _ was sweet. “I’m sorry. I’m not acting like myself. I’m just… I’m just tired, is all.”

She broke their physical contact, only to run her fingers through his scruffy hair. Moments later, he found himself with his head on her lap, still sitting on the floor, while she caressed his hair and the skin of his face. Leia couldn’t explain it, but simply offering him small gestures of love calmed her; it distracted her mind from all the troubles it was facing to focus on him. Only on him.

He only wished it could be the other way around. That he could be the one offering her all of his tenderness. For the time being, though, he would abide to whatever she needed to feel better.

“I love you, Leia,” he said with conviction after several minutes of a restless silence, where he could only listen to the sound of her breath while she lovingly stroke lines under his hair. He wasn’t facing her, only the blank wall, but one of his hands gently remained over her knee, reassuring himself that she wasn’t about to slip through his fingers.

His promise of love made all the difference. It made her feel like, somehow, it would be enough. “I know.”

They stayed like that for a while, embracing each other’s presence, until Han excused himself from his position, under the pretense that he was going to have a backache if he stayed like that for much longer. He didn’t really care about that, he just wanted the chance to be face to face with her again; and, once having received her blessing, he sat by her side.

He took his time to study her. She was no longer hiding, although it was visible that she wasn’t so at ease to being at the same eye level as him. Still, every now and then, she would force a shy smile on her lips, in attempts of reassuring him that she was fine — even if she had never explicitly said so aloud.

“Let’s call it a day, huh?” he proposed, praying that she would agree. “Forget about Padmé, forget about dinner. We’ll stay in, just the two of us. I’ll call Luke and tell him you’re not feeling well and would like to postpone dinner.”

She appreciated his caring, really. She appreciated having someone to look after her, even if she didn’t agree with it. “Han, I can’t—I can’t stop living because I’ve had a bad episode. I won’t. I refuse to give in to this.”

“Leia, this—” he forced himself to breathe, “There’s nothing wrong with taking one day for yourself, to recharge. Resting for a while doesn’t make you less strong. It only gives you more strength to carry on.”

“I can’t do that to Luke, Han,” she said earnestly. “We’re not in a good place right now, and… I need to try and fix it.”

“At the sake of yourself?!” he accused, and didn’t regret his harsh tone.

“If that’s what it takes, then yes,” unlike him, her voice remained peaceful.

He shook his head disapprovingly. “He’s your  _ brother,  _ Leia. If he can’t consider your needs over his longings, then he’s not being a good brother.”

Leia tilted her head, looking at him humbly. “Luke would never put himself over me, and that’s exactly why I need to go, Han.”

His face remained frozen. “I don’t understand, Leia. I’m sorry, I don’t. You’re so smart, you’re the smartest person I know, except when it comes to yourself. You’re always putting others first, and that… That isn’t right. You shouldn’t have to carry the burden of saving  _ everybody  _ if it means losing yourself in the process.”

She heard his point, and it even made her a little self conscious — but she didn’t have the privilege of agreeing with it. Couldn’t have. “I don’t get to be selfish with Luke, Han, not after everything he’s already done for me. Yeah, he’s driving me insane over this Padmé thing, but I need him to understand that his feelings are valid. He needs me right now, because I can sense how scared he is. He might not say it, nor show it, but he’s terrified of losing her, Han. And I hate to see him like that, because I… I’ve already found a new home. In you, and in him. He hasn’t. And I want that for him more than anything.”

Han lowered his gaze, with tingles on his stomach after hearing her refer to him as her home. “Why do you always have to be the better person?”

He said it with a chuckle, meaning it in a good way, although he wasn’t able to get rid of the edginess inside of him. He wished she would, for once in her life, listen to him, and put herself first.

“Luke has already done so much for me, it’s time I do the same for him,” she told him with conviction, and then made a more serious face, “Besides, I can’t have Luke worrying over me. He  _ hovers  _ when he’s worried, following me all around like a wounded hound. He’s already driving me insane, I don’t need to give him more reasons to be breathing me on my neck.”

Han snorted, unsure of what was more absurd — how accurate her description of her brother had been, or how seriously she had spoken. Only Leia to make someone concerned about her a bad thing. “I didn’t know he acted that badly.”

“You weren’t here,” she spoke with grief, reminiscing sadly how miserable her life had been during the period he had been taken from her and used as a decorative object in some crime lord’s empire. 

In a way, she was grateful for Luke during those times. Even if he had rarely allowed her peace, he had been her  _ rock _ ; she wouldn’t willingly admit it, but, back then, being alone only meant she would be thinking about  _ Han _ , so having Luke always hovering behind her had been a relief.

“How are you, by the way?”

Han was taken aback by her sudden question. He didn’t know what it meant, or how was he supposed to answer, only that she was staring at him with dark eyes that barely showed any signs of life, but still held all of her love.

“Me? I’m fine, Leia. This isn’t—”

“I mean it, Han,” she didn’t allow him to speak. “I’ve been so self absorbed in my own issues that I’ve all but forgotten that you, too, underwent some terrible trauma. It’s all happened so recently and I never thought to ask you how  _ you’re  _ feeling.”

Han swallowed hard at the memories. Mostly, he avoided thinking about the carbonite altogether. He had looked into death’s eye so many times during his well lived life, but he had never been as terrified as back in Bespin. Maybe he had been terrified of leaving her behind; maybe he had been scared of losing her. But that didn’t matter anymore, because they were together again.

At night, though, sometimes, he still dreamed of it. Of how cold and lonely he had been. Sometimes, he still woke up in a sweat, his heart pounding in his chests in terror of everything that had gone wrong during his rescue. Sometimes, he still felt the need to look over his shoulder, in the middle of the day, just to make sure she was still there, and not chained up to a disgusting hutt.

He wouldn’t tell her that, though. He wasn’t ashamed of his pain, but she already had so much to worry, from herself to her brother to an unasked for mother, that he didn’t want to add any stressors to her day. So he looked directly into her big, sad eyes and assured. “I’m fine, Leia. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Still, she didn’t seem exactly convinced. “I’m here for you, alright? If you ever need to talk, or anything, I’m here.”

He didn’t need to be told to know that; however, out of politeness, he offered her half a smirk and a strong nod. She smiled in return. Small, but it was there.

Once again, she ran her hand over her hair, pulling it all together behind her shoulder. “I think… I think I’m going to change.”

Han frowned, suddenly lost at her line of thinking and what had prompted her decision. Before, it had been her nerves; now, he wasn’t so sure. “Why? It’s a good dress.”

“Yes, but…” she bit down on her lower lip, untangling her legs from underneath her and bringing them down, until the tip of her bare toes were touching the cold floor. “I don’t want to feel like a girl right now.”

He understood, and it nearly broke his heart.

“I wish you could come tonight,” she said melancholically, and he shared her sentiments. He had yet to officially meet Padmé Amidala, either on her status as their mother or as a normal human being. Truth be told, he looked forward to finally making her acquaintance, so he’d see for himself whether she was the monster that Leia described her to be, or the angel that Luke made her to be, or — what he certainly assumed, an average person. Just like him.

Although Leia longed for his presence, the invitation had not been made. He had no other alternative than to let her go.

“I wish I could go, too,” he answered quietly, “Just to hold your hand.”

She grinned lightly, appreciating his intentions, and leaned forward to brush her lips against his cheek. He watched as she stood up and unceremoniously followed to the fresher. Shutting him out, and he was left to doing nothing but to stare at the closed door, listening to the sound of the shower running, even if she had taken a bath just a few minutes before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh, I was a little unsure about the events of this chapter, but considering that this story takes place immediately after the events of ROTJ, it's reasonable to believe Leia would carry some sort of PTDS regarding of what Jabba put her through - as it has been hinted before in a few lines of this fic.
> 
> i actually wrote this chapter twice, as it talks about much more delicate matters that couldn't be taken lightly. i sincerely hope i haven't romanticized it in any way, and if you like i did, please let me know so i can fix it, and improve my writing.
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think, as your feedback is the solemn reason I'm still here :)


	11. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Today, I come here bringing you a surprise: my friend (@FluffyTimelord on twitter) made the _most beautiful_ [fanart](https://twitter.com/worshipfuIness/status/1276970572891795457?s=20) for this chapter. Check it out! His work is amazing and his fanart left me so soft.
> 
> Finally--the _dinner_.

The restaurant they had chosen to meet was a few minutes walk away from the rebel base, in the outskirts of the City District they were lodged. It wasn’t a fancy neighborhood; in fact, there barely was any neighborhood at all — which provided the perfect hiding place for an entire fleet of rebels — but the restaurant that Padmé had found, during the walk she had taken earlier that morning, seemed to be gaudy.

Leia had argued against it, saying it was frivolous for them to risk their lives by going out there when the alliance provided a perfect cantina of an average quality. The purpose of their meeting was to allegedly get to know each other better, not to have an extravagant meal, so why should they bother. Luke, of course, had debunked her reasoning with his emotional thinking. With giant puppy eyes, he remembered her that he had grown up poor in an Outer Rim world — with barely any water to drink! — therefore he had never gotten the chance to enjoy an absurdly exaggerated meal, unlike her, who had taken pleasure in one every day of her life, while growing up in the palace of Alderaan.

Instead of cutting him off and lecturing him that that was not how things once worked on Alderaan, she mentally screamed ‘ _fuck it_ ’ and went out to buy the most exorbitant dress she could find.

She wasn’t wearing it to dinner, no, but she believed her message had been delivered loud and clear — if only to herself.

Given that they each had their own schedule, they agreed to meet at the restaurant around a predetermined time, rather than walking there together. That had allowed Han to walk her there, even though he had heard several complaints from her over the unnecessariness of his proposal. He didn’t care, and, deep down, he knew that neither did she. He had held her hand during the journey and kissed her goodbye once they reached their destination, and that had been enough for him.

Leia knew herself to be extremely early as she stepped inside. She didn’t really mind; that would give her the chance to sit on her own, while having a glass of wine. Her upbringing, as a young princess who often had to endure boring unending royal ceremonies, had taught her how to occupy her mind in her solitude. She mastered that ability, and it had helped her stay calm when first brought aboard the Death Star and was shoved into a cell to await for _interrogation_.

Of course, a meal with her estranged mother and her recently found brother could hardly be compared to the torture she had undergone. Instead, she intended to use the free time to go over the lists of things in her mind that was safe to talk about. If she had the entire evening planned out, then she wouldn’t be caught by surprise by any major turn of events.

That, however, had been her first mistake of the night. To assume she could work every factor to her favor and have a strict plan in mind. She should have known better, because nobody knew better than her how easily plans could break.

Leia nearly tripped on her feet when she noticed that Padmé had already arrived. She was distracted with her own thoughts, holding the glass of wine that Leia meant to be enjoying on her own but never once taking it to her lips. Once Padmé finally took sight of the young woman staring her from a few meters away, her surprise mirrored Leia’s face.

Padmé put her glass down, and began to raise from her seat. Changing her mind midway, she was stuck in a half sitting, half standing stance, probably making things even more awkward. Leia straightened her back and walked tall towards the table, pulling back a chair in the opposite side of Padmé’s and gracefully taking a seat. 

Pressing her lips together at their lack of greetings, Padmé mimicked her and sat back down. The waiter came and offered Leia the same wine that she was drinking, and Leia seemed to be more interested in the filling of her glass than looking at her mother in the face. 

She assumed Leia would willingly stay silent until her brother arrived and led most of the conversations, so Padmé cleared her throat and began, “You’re early.”

Padmé was unsure of what exactly had triggered Leia into taking her first sip of wine of the night, but she was certain of one thing: she hadn’t begun in the right way — although she was starting to question whether _right_ existed. Everything she did seemed to be wrong.

“So are you,” Leia stated the obvious, twirling the glass in her hand a few times before finally setting it back down. 

“We’re more alike than you’d willing to admit,” Padmé tried to make the atmosphere lighter, but damned herself for her comment almost immediately. _Stupid Padmé_ , unable to do anything right when it came to her. She wondered what was it about Leia that seemed to always put her on the edge.

“No, we’re not,” Leia remarked in a low, hoarse voice. In that moment, she regretted not having listened to Han and stayed in with him. No headache was worth this.

“You’re right,” Padmé sighed, looking down on the table cloth. “I arrived earlier because I was anxious for tonight. Meanwhile, you arrived earlier because you wanted to be in control. It’s not in your nature not to be in control of the environment, not to have the higher ground, so having me arrive here before you did throws you off your game. You no longer have the upper hand and now you’re unsure of how to proceed. All because you’ve lost control of the narrative.”

Leia practically fumed from the comment. If she didn’t know how control her anger so well, she would have snapped five minutes into the evening. “I thought we were two birds of a feather. Why shouldn’t I believe you’re here earlier for the same reasons as me?”

Padmé smiled sadly, bracing herself to restore eye contact. “Because, Leia, unlike you, I don’t view you as my sworn enemy.”

Leia fought every urge to roll her eyes. “If you knew me _at all_ , you’d see how absurd that collocation is. My only sworn _enemy_ is the man you chose to marry, and the empire that he helped to build.”

Although she couldn’t miss the accusation thrown at her, Padmé chose not to dwell on it. She understood very well that Vader was a delicate matter, so it was best not to delve on it. But Padmé was as versed in word games as Leia was, and that was how she decided to even their grounds. “I thought that was why we were here tonight. To get to know each other.”

Leia looked at her intensely. She was used to having the last word; Luke was too harmonious to ever join her in verbal fights, neither did he possess the wit and the years of practice to, and Han usually only stared at her in awe whenever she became eloquent with him. She realized she was finally staring at the true person that Padmé was, not just the mother begging for hers and Luke’s love. And as much as she hated to admit it, that person was highly like her.

However, admitting it to herself and aloud remained opposite edges of the spectrum. Instead of her line of thinking, she preferred to utter, “Look how well that’s going so far.”

Padmé chose to ignore that observation. If both of them believed their relationship was doomed from the start, then the odds of them ever establishing a good rapport were close to non existent. She was well aware that one of them would have to cave in, and she didn’t think it was right to ask Leia to do so when she hadn’t asked Padmé to invade her life in the first place.

“You look beautiful, Leia.”

Although she meant it, Padmé had merely thrown the comment around as a peace offering sign. A compliment to which Leia would politely thank for, and they’d be able to move on. Instead, she watched with confusion as Leia increasingly blushed and became evidently uncomfortable. Padmé was lost to what was happening; Leia was a beautiful young girl, that much couldn’t be argued. Regardless of her status as a princess, she should be used to the flattering by then — after all, she had made herself a home in a military base predominated by men. It wasn’t insane to assume that many of those men had once tried their chances on getting into bed with a princess.

She didn’t think that had been the reason for the change in her behavior. No; Leia was a strong, outspoken person — had anybody made an unwanted move on her, she would have put them in their place. It was something else, Padmé knew as much, and she worried. Even if Leia wouldn’t allow her to, Padmé silently worried for her.

Leia traveled her tongue across her lips; she had the simplest outfit there was on her closet, not desiring to look beautiful. She wore a light grey, oversized poncho dress, down to her knees, with leggings underneath. Her hair was up in a loose bun, with twists of locks tucked in and a crown braid around the bun. She had intended to look _casual,_ only casual, and it bothered her to know that she had failed.

Either that or Padmé was straight up lying to get on her good grace. Leia doubted it, though — Padmé did not seem like the type of person to vainly flatter someone. She was smarter than that.

Leia ran her fingertips across her tight strands of hair, diverging her gaze to anywhere but Padmé. “I take it after you, I suppose.”

The small remark warmed Padmé’s heart — to hear Leia commenting on their similar looks, it made her happy, it made her feel like they could finally start progressing on their relationship. However, she did not smile. She kept in mind that Leia was also a trained politician; there was every chance she said it not because she meant it, but to deflect the subject from her.

Especially when she already hadn’t felt comfortable with it being pointed at her.

“Is everything alright, Leia?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” she nearly snapped, keeping her tone cold. The question was all it took her to snap back into herself and pick up her glass of wine again.

Padmé placed both her arms across the table, leaning forward in the slightest. “You seem a little on edge.”

“There’s an entire galaxy waiting for me and my peers to build a proper democracy, yet I am _here,_ wasting precious time,” she accused, mercilessly, not caring in the slightest of how rude she had sounded. “I wouldn’t expect you to _understand_.”

But Padmé understood it all too well. She had felt the same during her youth, the only difference being that she tried to save democracy from falling. She had failed, but only years of growing and acquiring wisdom taught her what her young self needed to hear the most: it hadn’t been her fault.

Back then, she had no one to tell her that; she and her peers were far too busy sharing the guilt of failure to understand it had been Palpatine’s fault, and his fault only. Because of that, she prayed that Leia would listen to her when she said, “The weight of the world is not on your shoulders, Leia.”

A scoff, and then Leia negatively shook her head. Padmé could not understand; nobody else ever would, but Leia was the only person in the galaxy who carried the burden of an entire world in her back. Her own world. She had sentenced them to death, and she had no alternative than to live with the blame. It hurt, but she knew herself to be deserving of the pain.

“But it is.”

She said nothing more, and wouldn’t say even if Padmé pressed into it. It was common knowledge that Alderaan had been obliterated to send a message to the rebellion, to order them to cease and desist before more people suffered the same fate. What wasn’t known to public, however, was that the planet of choice had been picked because of _her_. Because she had pledged her life to the alliance and refused to reveal the true hidden location of the rebel base, even at the cost of her life — or the cost of the life of her planet. She didn’t intend to keep it a secret forever, known only to a few people in the Rebellion leadership. No; she owed it to the little of her people that were left scattered across the galaxy. First, however, she needed to make sure that the galaxy itself wasn’t about to crumble.

Padmé swallowed hard, sensing she was missing parts of the big picture but having a slight idea of what had been brought up. “What happened to Alderaan—”

Leia slammed her hand strongly to the table; it hadn’t been deliberately, only an instinct in the spur of the moment, however, it had made Padmé flinch. If Leia didn’t know any better — and she started to assume that she _didn’t_ — she would have said that Padmé looked scared of her. In that moment, she didn’t care. “We are _not_ going to talk about Alderaan.”

Leia breathed heavily and mechanically a few times, until her sudden boost of rage had all but evanesced. Her cheeks slightly flushed once she realized what she had done, and, closing her fist, she pulled back. She evaded looking at Padmé, because she couldn’t bear to try and decipher what was going through the retired senator’s mind. Leia was already scared enough as it was.

The princess wasn’t sure of what had just happened, or why she had reacted so badly to the mention of her home planet. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt a sudden need to protect everyone she ever loved, be them dead or alive, be it from anyone or from themselves. She just knew that, in that moment, she had felt her blood boiling and an impulse to crush something with her very hands. She didn’t even realize that she had actually demonstrated an act of violence until it was too late, and she couldn’t take her actions back. 

She was ashamed of herself. A part of her soul felt like it had suddenly gone dark and she did not enjoy, or recognized it.

Padmé stared at the young princess in front of her with wide eyes, unsure of how to proceed. She had never feared for her life, or even remotely considered that Leia might purposefully hurt her, but, for a brief moment, she had been sent back in time, and was staring at Anakin’s eyes as he pledged to destroy everything that came in the way of protecting those he loved, until he himself became his own threat, so blinded by his despair he had been.

For that brief moment, she saw Anakin on her daughter’s eyes, and it _terrified_ her.

Padmé still remembered vividly Anakin’s first display of rage. They had been on Tatooine, and he had held his mother in his arms as she drew her last breath. And to avenge her death, he had killed an entire village of sand people, including the women and the children. Back then, in her ingenuousness, she had dismissed the crime simply as a final cry of grief. Now, she understood it to be the first step in his descend to the darkness. 

She knew it was equivocal to compare father and daughter so soon, when little did she actually know of Leia, but one thing was certain: she refused to sit idly to watch as somebody else she loved fell to the dark side.

Even if there was so little that she could do.

“Leia—” Padmé tried, but the way Leia fixated her glare to her side, she realized she wouldn’t be getting anything from her for the time being. With nothing left to do, she could only respect Leia’s silence until Leia herself was comfortable enough to break it.

Padmé only watched her from afar, with a worried glance and her heart tight inside her chest. She didn’t know if it were a curse or a blessing that Luke at last emerged in the background, with his chipper steps and never ending smile.

She was starting to share Leia’s sentiments, as much as she hated to admit it. They were in for a long long evening, and Padmé wasn’t sure she was ready for all the migraines it would bring.

“I’m sorry I am late,” Luke said, in his usual happy tone. He was completely oblivious to everything happening there, as he leaned down over his sister and placed a gender kiss to her forehead — Padmé watched with discomfort as Leia shivered under his simple act of love. “I ran into Han on my way here. We lost track of time.”

Luke did the same to her, and Padmé accepted it with a stern smile, and he took a seat between the two of them. He assembled overly excited, unfolding the napkin over his plate and placing it on his lap — Padmé watched him with crossed eyes, doubting he had ever done it before and only wanted to feel fancy for the night. She was _conflicted,_ because she knew she needed to keep Leia in her mind first, but she only wanted to feel the warmth from Luke’s innocence.

And because of his innocence, alongside his eagerness to being there, it took him a little longer to perceive the tension in the air. He frowned, switching looks between his mother and his sister. “Is everything alright? It feels… dark here.”

His observation felt like the last straw; Leia didn’t want to make a scene, but she couldn’t take it anymore. She was suffocated, and she needed a break from both of them and their prying eyes. Ruthless, she got up, nearly knocking down the chair where she had been seating, and she stormed out.

“What…?!” Luke was lost at what was happening, and he simply watched as she went, without the will to do anything. He had learned, the hard way, that Leia most likely just needed her time alone to cool off.

Padmé was torn — she came to the conclusion that she absolutely wouldn’t be able to care for twins on her own. She wouldn’t be able to choose which of her children in need to tend; she knew it because she was struggling with it in that precise moment.

She did want to go after Leia; her heart was telling her to. However, she had been partly responsible for Leia’s reaction, and she was certain she was the last person Leia would like to see. Instead, she focused on Luke’s choice of words. “What did you just say?”

“What?” it was a matter of seconds until he tuned himself back to her. “Oh, I was just lost as to why Leia—”

“No, before that,” Padmé abruptly interrupted him. Affliction was written all over her face, “You said it felt dark in here.”

He nodded, expecting her to elaborate — and she never did. “Yes…?”

“Dark. You explicitly said you _felt_ dark.”

“Did I?!” he raised one of his brows, confused. “I don’t remember.”

“Luke—”

“I just said it, mother. It probably didn’t mean anything,” Luke tried to make her at ease, although her lingering doubt was making his distrust his own judgment. “Leia is the one good with words.”

Padmé didn’t believe it. She wasn’t naïve anymore; she wouldn’t make the same mistakes she had once done with Anakin. “Luke, I don’t mean to discredit you, but the way you said it… It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Coincidences like this don’t _exist_.”

He understood where she was coming from, really, but he couldn’t give in to a reasoning of someone who had come along the picture for two days, and barely knew them at all. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but it’s fine, really. I know I’m probably the least skilled Jedi you’ve ever met, but I can guarantee you this much: Leia is _fine_.”

She reprehended his assertion with a shook of her head. “Leia is not _fine_ , Luke. I barely know her and I can tell this much, although I’m unsure whether _I’m_ the reason for her current state. _Regardless,_ it’s your duty as her brother, as her _twin,_ and as a force sensitive Jedi, to know that she’s _not_ alright. You owe it to her, because, in the end, you’re all she has. _She_ is all you have.”

Luke knew he was ought to feel uncomfortable by her lecture, which he did, but all his mind could scream was — his mother’s first scolding! And he had been waiting for that moment for far too long. 

“You’re right,” he clasped his hands together in front of him, “Leia is going through a lot right now. _Mostly_ because of you, I’d have to say. But if there’s one thing that I don’t have to worry about, and the Force tells me as much, is the possibility of Leia ever going dark. That won’t happen.”

To her eyes, he was only being naïve — as she had been all those years ago — but she wasn’t Force sensitive, she couldn’t argue with him, only question him. “You sound awfully certain.”

“I am,” he gave her a stern nod. “You know why? Because Leia is _good._ She sparks light and hope wherever she goes. She is the best person I know.”

Padmé smiled sadly at his fondness for his sister. “Anakin was once good, too.”

Luke grimaced; that comparison alone made him uncomfortable. “I know you only have good intentions, mother, but Leia… Leia is not Anakin. You can’t ever say that to her, because it _will_ break her heart. And she’s already hurting enough.”

Padmé lowered her head in remorse, conceding to it. Although she couldn’t shake the feeling off, she’d have to trust his judgment, and only ever interfere if absolutely necessary. Besides, Luke had been right — she didn’t _know_ Leia. Only he did.

“Can you…” her voice was hoarse, and Luke leaned closer to her to properly hear her. “Can you go check on her?”

Luke smiled empathetically at her request. “Would that make you feel better?”

“This isn’t about me,” she said, “But yes, it would.”

He scoffed slightly and got up to abide her wish.

* * *

Luke found Leia outside, in the restaurant’s balcony. She was leaning against the railing, gaze attracted to the tall buildings in the far distance. With her head on the clouds, she remained so still that the only proof that she was still alive was her shoulders gently rising and falling in accordance to her breathing.

There was some faint music coming from the speakers, loud enough to disguise the sound of his steps as he approached. He didn’t want to startle her, so he leaned against the doorframe and remained there. He had promised Padmé that he would check on her, to make sure that she was physically okay, and he would do as much. He would stay there with Leia in her silence, allowing her the time to cool off, until she was ready to head back inside.

Believing it to be intrusive to stare at her, he flicked his eyes to the same horizon she was looking at. At the distance, the shadow of the Imperial Galactic Senate and the Jedi Temple could be seen, side by side. They came as a reflection of the twins, and above all — they mirrored the people their parents had once been. In a perfect reality, Leia and Padmé would be at the Senate, working towards law and peace for the galaxy, while Luke and Anakin would reside at the Jedi Temple, bringing order and peace to the galaxy. If only it were a perfect world. As a mean to escape the sad reality of the galaxy, Luke looked up to the stars, rather than aiming his eyes at the civilization in the distance. They brought him comfort, and he allowed himself to get lost on them.

“The purpose of me leaving the room was so I’d be alone, Luke.”

The sudden of sound of her voice nearly gave him a heart attack. He had been so careful not to disturb her, he had been so silent, and the several minutes that passed until she acknowledged his presence made him believe he had succeeded. And he had been watching her; she hadn’t turned around before speaking up. Making a face to himself, he crossed his arms under his chest and walked up to her. “How did you know I was here?”

Leia waited until he was by her side. She didn’t look at him, but his presence alone was alleviating. “I felt you there.”

With lines across his face and a big set of eyes, he conceded. “And how long have you known I was there?”

She chuckled so softly it was barely noticeable. “Ever since you’ve arrived.”

“What?!” his voice became high pitched as he faked offense. Most of the time, he tended to forget that she was as powerful as him in the Force, even if untrained. “And you just thought to make the fool of me for believing my sneaking had been successful?”

“No, I was just waiting for _you_ to find the courage to stop sneaking and come to me,” she teased, “So I could properly tell you off.”

He scoffed slightly at himself. “Charming,” he remarked, looking at her with the corner of her eyes. “You’re very strong in the Force, you know.”

“So I’ve been told,” she sighed, with disdain.

“I wish you would let me train you.”

Sometimes, she saw it on her best interest just to ignore him. “Did Padmé send you?”

He tapped his fingers against the railing. “Don’t ignore me.”

“Don’t _you_ ignore me,” she retorted.

“Yes, she did sent me. She is worried about you, and so am I,” he spoke truthly, from his heart. Then, he negotiated with her, “I answered you. Now you answer me.”

For the second time that night, she ran her fingers across her pulled back hair. She didn’t know whether it was the events of the night or her hairstyle so tightly pulled into a bun that was making her head ache. “Let’s live focused on today, Luke. I’m not ready for that.”

Sadly, he nodded. “Do you think you ever will be?”

“I’d rather not dwell on the future. I need to focus on myself right now before I can consider even the possibility of a future,” Leia said, letting out more glimpses of her soul than she was willing to.

“I understand, Leia,” Luke told her, placing his hand over hers and giving it a tight squeeze. He wasn’t sure of how much she had enjoyed his small act of affection, but she didn’t pull back.

Luke bent forward to properly study her. Although his intention had been clear, and he entered her field of vision, Leia carried on looking into the horizon. In a way, she reminded him of himself, and how Master Yoda once lectured him of looking far too much into the horizon. 

Except—it was different; Leia was different from him. He looked into the horizon because he was too anxious; he longed for a grandeur that he couldn’t reach unless he was focused on touching the horizon. Unlike him, Leia stared into the horizon because it was the only solid thing in front of her; it was the one constant that she could count on, and therefore, it gave her a sense of control over the present. It came to her as a promise that, if she worked hard to build her present, she — alongside all those that she gave her life to protect — could harvest of a better tomorrow.

“You okay there, Leia?” he asked humbly, without any class or mannerism — very much like the farmer boy he had grown to be.

She smiled at him; weakly, but consistently. “I just needed some fresh there. Being there felt… suffocating.”

“It’s me, Leia. Your brother,” he reminded her, “You can talk to me.”

“I know, Luke,” she said, for the first time in that evening looking at him. She noticed how worried he was, and felt bad for it, so she held his hand back.

Luke sighed heavily; he knew he wouldn’t be getting anything else from her that night, as infuriating as it felt. He respected her and her silence not to ask any further questions, he respected her privacy not to probe into her mind looking for the answers that would leave him more at ease. All he could do was wait until she either worked on her issues on her own or caved in and came to him for advice.

“I like that song,” Luke randomly said, turning around so he leaned on his back against the railing. Small talk to either lighten the mood, or give her the time and space to work out with what was still on her mind.

“I’ve never listened to it,” she said automatically, returning her stare to the scenery.

“It’s a nice song,” he repeated, and his eyes lit up like a bulb when the greatest idea came to him. He became overly excited, even, as he straightened his stance and turned back to her, extending his hand to her. “Dance with me.”

“What?!” he doubted he had ever seen her so taken aback as in that moment, with a frown on her forehead and big, questioning eyes looking directly at him. “No, Luke, I—I don’t know how to dance.”

Luke evidently scoffed at her face. “You’re a _princess._ I find it hard to believe that you aren’t well versed in the official dance of at least thirteen different planets.”

Leia narrowed her eyes at him. “ _Fine._ I know how to dance, I just don’t want to.”

She wasn’t trying to make a scene, or playing hard to get. However, since the events that took place at Jabba’s palace, where she had been forced to dance and strip in front of thousands of prying eyes, of men who only fantasized of her and of having her body all for themselves. She felt disgusted with herself only reminiscing what she had endured back then.

Shivering to herself, Leia wrapped her arm around herself. She didn’t think Luke noticed her sudden edginess, but it was there and it made her sick to her stomach.

“ _Come on_ ,” he begged, with a roguish smile stamped on his face. “Come on. I don’t really know how to dance, you can teach me.”

She rolled her eyes significantly, “If you don’t know how to dance, then why—”

“Leia,” he reprimanded her, emphasizing his open palm in the air. “Just take my hand.”

For several seconds, Leia only stared at him in pure skepticism, _expecting_ he would back away if she glared at him long enough. Instead, his devilish smirk never left his face, and she started to believe he was only doing it to piss her off — and succeeding. _Stop it,_ she silently yelled at herself. That was her _brother_ there, the one person in the world who would never hurt her. Her brother! And then, she finally surrendered, and gave him her hand while trying to hold back a childish grin.

Luke intertwined his fingers on hers and pulled her close, placing his other hand around her waist. He wasn’t that tall, especially if compared to Han, but it was nearly comic how small she was next to him, having to lean on her tiptoes to wrap her arm around his neck.

His smile softened, but it never left his face. He could feel every tension in her body as he started to swing back and forth in a rhythm only he could hear. At first, Leia look strictly into his eyes, her muscles rigid and unbending, her breath caught up in her throat. Until she remembered— it was him; only him. Her brother who had no idea what he was doing, other than desiring to make her feel better. So, she relaxed, and shyly grinned at him.

“You’re awfully bad at this,” she uttered, receiving nothing but a carefree laugh from his end. She laughed, too, following his lead as he slowly swayed in a circular motion. She breathed out the last of her tensions as she laid her head in the middle of his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

She couldn’t explain the sensation it brought her; a feeling of being complete. A reminiscence that she wasn’t alone, that she would never be alone, so long as she had him. Her other half. Leia already knew their connection to be strong, but it only strengthened after she learned of their blood ties — because everything fell into place.

Maybe that was how it had felt to be in the womb with him, sharing a home with him free of terrors, free of sorrows, free of pain. It seemed like paradise — that was all she ever wanted.

Luke laid his chin over the top of her head, making a mess of her neatly pulled back hair. He couldn’t explain the peace that the small interaction had brought him; the peaceful bliss of belonging. He knew that their bond was strong because they shared the same blood, but it was so much deeper than that — because, above all, they shared the same soul.

And that brought them the serene relief of coexisting.

“Luke,” she gently said his name, a voice so small only he could hear. “I’m terrified of the Force.”

He felt her heart rapidly accelerating after her confession, and he knew she was giving more of herself than she was ready to; that it took everything from her to admit her darkest fear to him. Little could he do than to strengthen his embrace around her.

“The Force… The Force is a good thing, Leia. It folds you in its warmth and it brings you peace. It connects you to life, it brings you closer to everyone that ever was, and anyone that ever will be,” he did his best to put into words something that could only be comprehended empirically. “The force binds you strong. It is your ally, not your enemy. It feels… like home.”

She wanted to understand, she really did, but it failed her how something allegedly so beautiful could open a path to so much destruction. 

And she was terrified there was too much of Anakin within her.

“I don’t want to become dark, Luke,” she confessed, her face remaining perfectly hidden against his chest. “I don’t want to become… _him_.”

“You won’t,” his tone quickly shifted from rambles to conviction. He didn’t know much, but that much he was sure of. “You’re so strong, Leia. Your spirit and your will are unbreakable. Because you’re good, and you’re fair, I know that you won’t ever turn.”

“You can’t promise me that he wasn’t fair and good, too,” she cried, “You didn’t know him.”

“I didn’t,” he conceded, “But you know who did? _Padmé_.”

She pulled her head away from his chest, gazing down. “I _don’t_ want to talk to Padmé about this.”

Luke sighed loudly, his eyes fixated on her forehead, as that was the most he could make of her. “One day, you’ll have to forgive her, Leia.”

“Forgive her?” Leia was clearly at loss, “I barely know her, Luke. There’s nothing she needs to ask my forgiveness for.”

Except—Luke knew better than that. Even if she couldn’t see it for herself. “One day, Leia, you’ll have to forgive her for falling in love with _him_.”

She grimaced, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t—”

“Yes, you do,” he said, and sometimes, she swore he knew her better than she did. Leia couldn’t even tell whether she had realized that herself, or if her subconscious was just piling up her rage inside of her.

Her arm lost its grip and fell down to his waist; her body wasn’t even following his swaying anymore. “I… It’s all just… Everything is so messed up.”

“For what’s worth, Leia,” he let go of her hand to press his index under her chin and raised her head so she would look at him. Her eyelashes remained down for a few more seconds, but she soon gave in. “You’re not him.”

Her eyes widened, and the the black holes she had hidden there shined. “What..?”

“We make our paths, Leia. We’re responsible for our own destiny. Anakin chose the dark side, it wasn’t something imposed by him, some sort of predetermined fate. Because he was weak, he couldn’t control the urge he had in him, and that’s why he fell. But you, Leia, you’re the strongest person I know. Above all, you’re good. You’re not him, as convinced as you are that you might be.”

The only reason she didn’t break their eye contact was because he didn’t let her. She had to chew on her inner cheeks in order to control her emotions. Still, she managed to crack half a smile at him, “You’ve become quite wise, you know.”

Luke scoffed lightly, finally lowering his hand and trusting her to keep her head up. “Does that mean you’ll listen to me?”

She made a funny face. “Maybe.”

Although he smiled, he shook his head sideways. Leia chuckled at the look he was giving her, mixed with relief, that he had spoken his message, and disappointment, that it would still be awhile before she could fully listen to him. 

She laid her head on him again, and he locked both his arms around her waist, holding her close. Still swinging to the soft tune of the music, he was content to stay there for as long as she needed.

* * *

Padmé approached the balcony with light steps. It had been a while since she had been left alone in the table, and, even though she _knew_ there was nothing to worry about, as Luke had gone to Leia, her mother’s instincts still screamed at her to go take a peek at them.

She glimpsed her head out of the door, and the scene before her eyes impacted her. Luke and Leia were in each other’s arms, happily dancing with no other other worry in mind. They were smiling, and their smiles touched her.

Not wanting to intrude on their privacy, she headed back inside, holding tightly to the pendant she had hidden under her neck with a feeling that everything would eventually find its right place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go, the first installment of the dinner! Once again, don't forget to check my friend's [fanart](https://twitter.com/worshipfuIness/status/1276970572891795457?s=20) for this chapter.
> 
> If this chapter and the fanart have made you happy, then please leave a comment! Your feedback is so important to us :)


	12. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you all had any idea the warmth you've brought me with all the feedback to the last chapter.... thank you!

Padmé did her best to hide her smile as she saw Luke and Leia walking back to the table. The air seemed lighter, tension had allegedly been left outside — and she hoped it would remain like that for the rest of the evening. She noticed they were talking to each other as they approached, sharing smiles and laughters; Leia had her arms crossed under her chest, and Luke had his hand place on her shoulder, and they seemed… carefree.

Padmé straightened her posture as they returned to their previous seats. She tried to act normal, to pretend she wasn’t anxiously looking forward for the rest of the night, but she couldn’t tell how well she was succeeding.

She wanted to ask if everything was alright; she almost did. However, she feared that the simple question would set them back to the bad atmosphere they had finally managed to move past from. Instead, she chose to focus on them without looking too much like a creep. She observed how Leia moved more freely, and how he broadly he smiled when next to her. Padmé forbid herself from considering how  _ she  _ was the one who had disrupted their relationship, their  _ healthy  _ relationship, but the thought lingered the back of her head either way.

Luke picked up the menu without any manners, only then noticing how he had dropped the napkin that had been previously been on his lap to the floor, when he had gone after Leia. He grimaced, glaring down at it on the ground as if it were his new darkest enemy, unsure whether he should grab it again and pretend nothing had happened, or leave it there and pretend nothing had happened.

Too late, though — Leia had already noticed it and was giving him a mock face. So had Padmé, however she did pretend she hadn’t seen anything. Luke flushed, and raised the menu to hide his face, until only his big blue eyes were left staring at his sister.

Leia reprimanded him with a stern shaking of her head. “You’re terrible at this.”

“I’m sorry, Leia…!” he nearly cried, faking being hurt — although Leia suspected there was some veracity to his faking. Padmé merely laughed at him as he bucked up and leaned down to grab the napkin, messily throwing it back to his lap. “I’ve never taken classes on how to act in a fancy restaurant, okay.”

Her glare was intense, and she spoke earnestly, “ _ How _ are we related.”

He chose to ignore her, instead starting to go through the menu. Meanwhile, Leia gently tapped her fingers over the table, sharing the first look with Padmé; Padmé couldn’t decipher what her half smirk, half glare meant, therefore she didn’t respond.

“Wow, there are more options of meals here than I thought possible,” Luke commented, focused on the task on his hands. “Leia, have you decided what you’re ordering? What about you, mother?”

“I’ll just have what you have,” Leia waved it off; to her, food was the least of her concerns that night. Of course, the same couldn’t be said about Luke. Although he was eager for their first event as a  _ family,  _ he couldn’t hide his excitement over the prospect of feeling fancy.

To Leia, that seemed an absurd, but she enjoyed seeing how overly happy he became with the simplest of things — such as folding a napkin over his lap.

“You’re not going to at least look at the menu?” Padmé wondered. Like her daughter, she didn’t care for the meal itself, but she was keen on analyzing their individual personalities from every little glimpse they were offering. She just wanted to get to know them, and everything about them.

“I’ll just have that Luke has,” she repeated, dismissing the issue. “I’m not the picky eater here.”

Luke’s behavior changed fast; he was so offended by her insinuation, and the compressed smirk on Leia’s lips proved that was the exact reaction she expected from him. His cheeks became red as fire as he shut the menu in repudiation. “Leia!”

Leia snorted at his semi yell, and she could tell that Padmé was doing her best to hold herself back. Luke tried to recompose himself, and this time, spoke in a steadier voice, “I am  _ not  _ a picky eater.”

“Luke, it’s alright,” Leia belittled him, “We’re among  _ family _ , you don’t have to hide parts of your true identity here.”

He had to stop himself from sticking his tongue out to her, like a spoiled little  _ child _ . “At this precise moment, I don’t like you very much.”

Leia only laughed at his childish behavior.

“Well, Luke,” Padmé finally rose her voice, “If you’re not a picky eater, why don’t you let Leia choose your meal? You’ll have what she has.”

Luke’s eyes widened in pure horror as he glanced at Padmé. “Mother! You’re supposed to be on my side!” and then, a very low grunt, “Please don’t do this to me.”

A little too fond of the idea, Leia yanked the menu from his hands. “It’s a deal.”

“You’re  _ evil, _ Leia,” he accused, uncaring of any other denotation that that word might trigger into her behavior. Luckily, she seemed to only take pride on it. He looked back at Padmé, “Please don’t let her do this, mother. She’s  _ mean _ , she’s going to choose the worst possible meal only to torture me.”

“Weren’t you the one who insisted on this elaborate evening?!” Padmé teased, “Part of being fancy comes with the extravagant meals.”

He swallowed hard. “Because I wasn’t expecting to be bullied by my own relatives…”

Leia looked at him with mischievous eyes as she announced, “Alright, I’ve chosen our dinner. Padmé, you’re ready to order?”

Padmé nodded, so Leia called the waiter and told them of their orders, taking pleasure on how Luke looked like he was about to cry next to her. To add to her teasing, she slowly sipped her wine once they were alone again.

From under the table, however, she reached out to him and gave his thigh a tight squeeze, as if to say,  _ thank you for making this evening as light as possible _ , and he returned the gesture by lovingly rubbing her hand with his thumb.

“Well, Luke,” Leia prompted, “You wanted this little  _ family reunion.  _ Why don’t you start asking if being a picky eater runs in the family?”

“Leia,” he all but rolled his eyes, and too quickly turned to Padmé and asked scared, “Does it?”

“Not from my side,” Padmé giggled, tilting her head sideways as she reminisced, “And if I recall correctly, your father would eat anything on sight.”

“Ah,” Leia clicked her tongue, “I’m afraid you’re the only  _ faulty  _ one here, Luke.”

“That’s not fair,” he pouted, “I wasn’t  _ rich  _ like you. Growing up, I only had the absolute necessary. You,” he pointed to Padmé, “Well, I don’t know what kinds of life you and Anakin led, but  _ anything  _ is better than growing up on Tatooine.”

“Your father grew up on Tatooine,” Padmé remarked, shrugging, and noticed how her single sentence was enough to silence the room. She was unsure of how to proceed next, and wished she could take back the comment. Luke stared at her with prying eyes,  _ begging  _ for any stories on his progenitors, meanwhile Leia glared at her with repulse of the man she had mentioned. She couldn’t please both of them. Either way, one of them would get hurt. 

“I, huh,” Padmé stuttered — she felt cornered, and was terrified that the wrong move would ruin the rest of the evening. She was pressured by Luke’s looming eyes, and criticized by Leia suddenly looking sideways to hide her disappointment. It amazed her how the twins had mindsets completely opposite to one another. She sighed in despair, hoping she was making the right choice, “Let’s not talk about Anakin tonight. We’re here to get to know each other, that’s all.”

Although the disappointment in his eyes was evident, Luke conceded. Leia continued to stare into the distance, and Padmé made a mental note to never mention Anakin next to her again, even if that meant Padmé would have to bury the great man he had once been.

It would be worth it, she promised herself. There was no point in mourning his death when she could see him in Leia, and in Luke, everyday.

Anakin would live forever, through them.

“Why don’t you tell us about yourself, mother?” Luke prompted, suddenly eager again. “It’s just come to my attention that I know so little about you. I have no idea who you  _ are,  _ other than my mother. And I’m certain your story is magnificent.”

Padmé blushed; she wouldn’t call her story  _ magnificent,  _ but it certainly was… something. Like Ameera had said, she had to have been  _ someone  _ to bring Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa to life. And it was true, she had conquered a lot ever since entering the political arena, and regrettably she had entered that world too soon into her life — although she wouldn’t change it for anything. She cleared her throat, “Would, em, would you be alright with that, Leia?”

Leia merely pursued her lips on a thin line. “Sure.”

Padmé breathed in a long breath. She wasn’t all too convinced with Leia’s agreement, but she owed that much to Luke, who kept staring at her with hopeful eyes. He was  _ desperate  _ for anything. “Well,” she let out an anxious laugh, “I—I don’t even know where to start.”

“Start from the beginning,” Luke stated, as if that wasn’t obvious. “I want to know  _ everything,  _ Padmé.”

“Well,” she repeated, wetting her lips, “I was born to a middle class family, in Naboo. I have—had—I don’t even know if they’re still alive—I  _ had  _ two loving parents and a sister. I was raised with love and caring, and it’s so much more than I can say for most families in the galaxy.”

She didn’t know whether her statement could be applied to either of her children — she hoped so— and wondered if she would be able to provide the twins the same kind of life she had had during her childhood, while raising them on her own in some Outer Rim world. She wondered if it were for the best that they had been taken away from her.

“We could find that out,” Luke suggested. “About your parents, I mean, and your sister. I’m sure they would be thrilled to see you again. And, on a more selfish note, I would love to get to know them. To meet more people that share my blood.”

Padmé grinned at him; he was always eager with the smallest things. “Truth is, Luke, I’m scared. If I go back and learn that they have died… That’s one more heartbreak that I’m not ready to face. Not yet.”

Inevitably, Leia grunted, hoping she wouldn't be heard, or that her rolling eyes wouldn’t be seen. Unfortunately, her wishes didn’t come through, as Luke was quick to pointedly glare at her.

“Is there something you’d like to say, Leia?”

Leia leaned back on her seat indecorously to feign indifference. “Me? No, I’m all good.”

“If you have something to say, Leia,” he sounded more authoritative than she ever thought him capable of. “Then say it. We have lots of things to work through, and keeping our feelings to ourselves won’t get us anywhere.”

Leia looked at him with disdain, but decided to take his cue, and shifted her eyes to Padmé. “I think you’re being an idiot.”

Padmé nearly gasped at the sudden accusation. She was used to being verbally dismissed, sure, but not ever so bluntly so. “I—I beg your pardon?”

Leia chose to simply stare at her rather than to get into an argument — she didn’t have to say much, really, when her eyes were powerful enough to condemn her  _ mother _ . Leia would do anything to have her parents back, her  _ real  _ parents, or at least have the chance for one last moment with them, and there she stood face to face with a person who so selfishly dismissed their parents as if they meant nothing to her. 

“Leia, you—you don’t understand.”

She merely shot her shoulders up. “Then help me understand.”

“Alright,” she conceded, her voice hoarse but steady. “When the Republic fell, I had no alternative than to go into hiding. I was a threat to Ana— _ Darth Vader _ , as much as he was a threat to me. Neither of us would be allowed to live so long as the other breathed, so I did what I had to do: I killed Padmé.  _ Padmé  _ hasn’t existed for 23 years. She’s been lost, she’s been mourned, she’s been  _ forgotten _ . I couldn’t risk telling my family that I was still alive, as that would jeopardy them, and you  _ know  _ that, Leia, because you’re a clever politician. Don’t hold me accountable for things I’ve done for their own protection, no matter how much I hurt them.”

“Their safety little mattered to them if they didn’t have  _ you  _ anymore,” Leia denounced. She knew as much, because her father had sent Mon Mothma an enraged, mourning message once he had received news that everyone aboard the Tantive IV had been killed, including her. A message in which he vowed to make those responsible pay for taking his daughter from him. A message in which he cried the loss of his only daughter. A message that had been recorded moments before the Death Star appeared over the Alderaanian sky and killed him, alongside her mother, and everything she had ever know. A message that Mon Mothma had brought to her after she had been taken to the medical bay on Yavin, so the vestiges of her treatment on the Death Star would be looked after. A message that she had never brought herself to listen, because she didn’t want it to be her last memory of her father — or, maybe, she was waiting for the day she needed to hear it the most. The day the pain of their death, and the guilt of being responsible for their death suffocated her to a point that she only wished to hear one last time how much she had been loved. “I can guarantee you this much.”

Padmé retrieved both her hands to her lap. “Maybe, but—”

“You know what I don’t understand?” Leia carried on, little caring for the excuse Padmé had to give. “The Empire fell. Darth Vader and Palpatine both died. You got your freedom back, you got your  _ name  _ back. You could go home, you could be reunited with the family you had to sacrifice, the family that I assume you once loved. Yet, you chose to come here. To try your odds with a child that you had never met.”

“Child?” Luke frowned, arching one of his brows. “You meant her children—”

“ _ Child _ ,” Leia emphasized, deviating her judgmental eyes back to her brother. “Isn’t this an honest family reunion?! Let’s not fool ourselves, then. Padmé came back for  _ you _ , not for us. Had she or had she not known she had given birth to twins, she came back for you, Luke Skywalker, bearer of Anakin’s name. I was just the consequence. Which brings me to the question,” she redirected her attention to Padmé. “Why am I here? If you came back for him, and him only, why do you care so much that I participate in your life? Luke was enough to you when you learned of him, why isn’t he anymore?!”

“Are you  _ serious  _ right now?!” Padmé had to close her eyes in order not to lose her patience — and she was getting close to. “What did you expect, that I’d learn of your existence and simply ignore it altogether?! I can’t tell whether you’re undervaluing yourself, or if you just think you’re too good to be part of this family. Either way, I’ve only ever been nice to you, and yet you make sure to belittling my every attempt of getting to know you. Tell me, Leia, tell me what it is that I must do so you can at least start  _ respecting  _ me. I don’t even care if you hate me anymore, I would just like to be treated like a respectful human being.”

Leia’s facial expression didn’t much as flinch. “We’re not a  _ family,  _ Padmé. I don’t know where you get your delusions from, but we are  _ not  _ a family. Luke and I, we’re a family. We’ve formed a relationship in the years we’ve known each other that only grew stronger once we learned of our blood ties. In the end, however, blood ties don’t mean  _ shit _ , because we build our family from the people we love, not from the people to whom we’re bound my blood.  _ This,  _ whatever this is — this isn’t a family. You’re more than welcome to lie to yourself, but don’t drag us— _ me _ —into your illusions.”

“You know what, Leia, you’re absolutely right,” Padmé spoke with the same fiery tone. “We’re not a family, and your constant dismissal of any attempt of us forming a bond proves that we will most likely  _ never  _ become a family. Our blood ties don’t necessarily bind us together, but is this how you treat every person that comes into your life?! I get it, I’ve been here for five minutes, you don’t owe me  _ anything _ , but if this is how you treat everybody, then your fame of the Ice Princess suits you right. And if you really are the Ice Princess that you make everybody believe, then I’m amazed at Luke for somehow managing to stick around. I  _ pity  _ him for having to deal with this behavior of yours on a daily basis.”

This time, Luke genuinely felt like crying. His eyes were stinging, and he wouldn’t be able to control them for too long. That entire evening — it was a mess. He’d never thought himself to be longing for his past, but he wished he was back in Tatooine, with Aunt Beru tucking him into bed and saying she loved him. He missed the time when he was unconditionally loved, where he didn’t have to fight for anybody’s love. “I… I don’t think…”

He was ignored; he wasn’t even given the chance to speak, as Leia continued, “Alright. Maybe I am the Ice Princess I am so famously known as. But let’s not lie to ourselves, Padmé. If you want to know why I am  _ the  _ Ice Princess, then we came trace its roots to  _ you _ . Only you, because you decided to fall in love with Darth Vader. The man who ruined my life, the man who made me this way. I make no apologies for how I chose to repair what  _ he  _ broke.”

Luke bit down on his lips hardly to repress his emotions. “I don’t…”

“It always comes back to Darth Vader,” Padmé relentlessly shook her head sideways. “What you have yet to realize, Leia, is that I’m not him. I’m not him! I’m not the monster that you made Anakin to be, I’m  _ just  _ the person who fell in love with him. I didn’t hurt you, I could never hurt you, and yet you treat me like I was  _ him _ . And that’s not fair, because I have been paying you with kindness and love ever since I got here and you never even made the effort to meet me halfway…!”

He pulled on the collar of his tee — he couldn’t  _ breathe.  _ “I…”

“Not fair?!” Leia’s eyes glowed from her own tears. “ _ Not fair _ ?! For the first time in your life, you meet someone who doesn’t like you and you think that’s not fair?! Well, I’ll tell you what’s not fair. The billions of innocent people who lost their lives on Alderaan. A whole culture that has been extinguished. The thousands of Alderaanians who  _ luckily  _ weren’t home when the destruction happened, although they wish they were, and lost everything dear to them. All because Anakin and his peers chose to play God.  _ That’s  _ not fair, and yet you will never see me whining about it. Don’t try to compare this to the petty sensation of not having a daughter you just met love you back. Spare me.” 

“You’re not the only one who’s lost everything, Leia!” at last, Luke let it all out. He was enraged, therefore he screamed, and it startled both girls who had been having a heated but restrained argument — unlike him, they were well versed in having whole discussions with their adversaries without losing their composure. He didn’t have that training, and he wasn’t good in letting his reason speak louder than his emotions, hence why there were tears freely running down his face. His face became red in his anger, and he knew that wasn’t a good sign; that, as a Jedi, he should refrain from ever allowing himself to be angry, and that  _ scared  _ him — just like it scared the two sets of mortified eyes that he had secured over him after his outburst, but he was  _ so angry  _ that he didn’t care. “Just because your loss is on a scale bigger than ours, it doesn’t make our pains any more bearable, or any less valid.”

Leia stared at him with alarm; so rarely she had seen him lash out that this new image of him was a blow to her heart. She didn’t think there was anything wrong with him so explicitly showing his emotions — in fact, she encouraged it — but she condemned herself for being the one to trigger his breakdown. She was his  _ sister _ , she had made a promise to herself that she would always protect him from harm, and she had just broken it on the worst possible way.

Leia leaned forward to reach him, and shoved her guilt deep inside when he consciously pulled away from her. She softened her voice, “I know that, Luke.”

“Do you?!” he blasted, quickly running his hands against his cheeks, to no avail. “Because you’re advertising of your losses as if you’re the only one suffering the consequences of the war. We all lost everything, Leia, we just chose not to become assholes from it.”

Leia looked down, her lower lip starting to tremble. She had no excuses left to give for her behavior. “I’m sorry, Luke.”

Luke negatively shook his head. “I can’t tell if you’re genuinely sorry, or if you’re just apologizing to make yourself feel better, in the hopes that I’ll absolve you.”

Padmé wanted to interfere before either of the twins said something they might regret later. That wasn’t the first time she had seen them fight, and she didn’t think they hadn’t had heated arguments before she’d come into the picture, but never,  _ never  _ something so raw as this. Out of her own selfishness, though, she remained silent. She already had Leia against her, she didn’t want Luke to turn on her as well.

“I’m not a monster, Luke,” Leia said. She wished people would stop saying she was the Ice Princess, that she was incapable of having feelings, because even those she assumed knew her better than that were starting to get caught up in that narrative, and she swore — she doubted people felt as much as she did. Sometimes, she felt so much she thought she would explode.

She wasn’t the Ice Princess that everybody accused her of being — she was simply under her royal obligation of concealing everything. If people ever came to know how many emotions she hid inside of her… they wouldn’t be able to bear it.

“Neither is Padmé!” he yelled again, this time louder, attracting the attention of the people in the nearby tables. He blushed considerately at that. “Yet you’re determined to make her  _ the  _ monster of your worst nightmares! And that’s not  _ fair  _ to her either.”

Luke took a few moments to recompose himself, breathing heavily, and then continued. “You’re so stuck in the past that you refuse to look to the future. Which is quite ironic, since the entire galaxy is relying on  _ you  _ to build them a better future. Don’t get me wrong, Leia, I don’t doubt for a second that you’re helping build a  _ marvelous  _ future for all of us — because that’s the thing, isn’t it? So long as it’s not personal, as it doesn’t hit too close to home…”

Leia swallowed her cry; what did he expect her to say? That she cared more for herself than for the people of the galaxy?! Because she  _ couldn’t  _ say that; she had been raised a princess, destined to rule her people. Ever since her birth, she knew that her duty must always come in front of her personal needs. She might not have her world anymore, but she still had her power, and it was her duty to use it to undo everything that her  _ father  _ had done. “I have a  _ duty _ , Luke.”

“ _ Bullshit _ . Your duty died alongside your world,” he spoke before thinking, and immediate grimaced at himself for it; still, he didn’t take it back, and he fully ignored Padmé opening her mouth to interfere on his allegation. Leia was finally listening, and he had a lot to say. “The only duty you have right now is to your family. To  _ me _ , Leia, your brother. Can’t you see how much you’re hurting me? Can’t you realize that your every attempt at discrediting Padmé directly affects me?! She is my  _ mother _ …! You might not consider her to be yours, but she’s still mine, and I just… I just want to be happy, Leia. That was the whole point of this evening. So we could have  _ one  _ night where we didn’t have to worry about the war, so we’d just get to be carefree and happy and a family. And yet, because of  _ you _ , the war was brought here.”

Leia didn’t think she was crying — but was she? She couldn’t tell anymore. If people wanted to see her display her emotions, to see her  _ break,  _ then she would provide them a show. “And as I’ve already stated  _ so many times,  _ I don’t want to get in the way of your happiness, Luke. I  _ don’t  _ want to come between you and Padmé! You two have my full blessing to be—whatever you want to be. All I ever asked in return was that my own  _ wishes  _ were respected. All that I want is that my feelings towards all of  _ this  _ be respected. I don’t want to be here, I am  _ uncomfortable  _ being here, but I came. I came because I know how important this is to you, I understand how much this dysfunctional family matters to you. But you can’t expect me to erase all my past just to make this work. I  _ won’t _ , because my past is all I have left. It’s my most precious possession and it’s my  _ only  _ possession. I can’t let go.”

If Luke thought himself to be embarrassed for breaking down in front of them, his inhibition didn’t come as close as her discomfort when he finally looked at her again. Although her cheeks were still dry, her glossy eyes and her red nose did her no justice. He felt like the worst brother ever; what had happened to his vow that he would never deliberately hurt her? What was happening to  _ them _ ?! He was terrified to learn if they were headed towards a road with no return.

“You have to start letting go of your past, Leia,” he cried, his calm overtaking him again. 

She pressed her lips tightly, and they became white. “I don’t want to, Luke. I don’t think I  _ can _ .”

“You have to, otherwise you’ll never allow yourself to live,” he said with conviction. “I’m not asking you to forget your past, but… You need to let go of all the bad that has happened. It’s not easy, I know — I still have nightmares of finding Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen dead, but I’ve moved on. It’s the only way I know of honoring them.”

Leia sniffed, running her finger against the corner of her eyes while looking up to the ceiling and leaving her gaze there. “It’s not that easy, Luke. All the things that happened… I can’t forget, no matter how badly I want to.”

“It’s time you allow yourself to be happy again, Leia,” Luke begged, and his eyes were bluer than usual, to the point they made Leia uncomfortable. “It’s time.”

Leia chewed on her inner cheeks — she didn’t  _ know  _ how to be happy anymore. She would never say it aloud, but the prospect of being happy terrified her; because happiness too easily slipped away from her grasp. Because of that, she remained silent, eyes fixated over her head in her hopes of regaining control of herself.

“If I… If I can say something,” at last, Padmé spoke up, and a twinge struck her in the heart when she saw Leia’s eyes all but disappear when she was reminisced that Padmé was still there. “Luke, I am sorry. I am sorry that life happened and we lost our way to each other. I am sorry that you had to grow up with this ache in your heart. There’s nothing I wish more than to free you of your pain, than to unwind time and do everything differently. But I can’t. I just hope we can make up for lost time.”

Padmé looked at him and saw the single tear that melancholically ran down his face. His hands were tightly clung to one another, and he hid his mouth behind them. He nodded, accepting her apologize gratefully. Luke hadn’t considered he blamed her for abandoning him, but hearing her out, he learned that the void in his soul was still far from being filled. He realized that she wasn’t still  _ his mother _ , only some person that had come into his life. He knew nothing of her, and she knew nothing about him. There was still a long road until they could consecrate their mother and son bond. Because of that, her words to him made all the difference.

“Leia,” Padmé called for her; she would wait forever, if necessary, until Leia finally looked at her again. “I am so sorry that you’re hurting. I am sorry that my return has only intensified your pain. I can’t pretend to know what you’re going through, and I don’t expect you to tell me, but, please, never forget that I am  _ here  _ for you. Not only as a mother, but as a woman. I might not have known about you until I came here, but I still carried you in my womb. I felt you and I created a bond with you. Because of that, I can promise you: I  _ love  _ you. I have loved you since you became part of me. I don’t require your love back, but I hope you know you’ll always have it, and, maybe, someday, that you might accept it. You deserve to be loved again, and I am  _ certain  _ that I speak for your brother when I say that he and I will always be here. You might try to push us away, because you’re afraid to open up, but we won’t leave you, Leia. We’re a  _ family,  _ and family means that we hold tight to those we love, and we don’t let go.”

Symbolically, Padmé extended her hand to Luke, inviting him in, and he reached for it without a shadow of a doubt. She did the same to Leia; however, the young girl only glared at it with suspicion. 

But Padmé wasn’t one to easily give up. “I am  _ sorry  _ for what Darth Vader did to you. You hate him, and it’s completely understandable. Trust me,  _ nobody  _ hates him more than I do. He hurt me, and, because of him, I lost the two of you. I will never forgive him for that. But I can’t apologize for falling in love with Anakin. I wouldn’t mean it, and you’re a clever person, you would instantly know that I’d be lying to you. I can’t have the foundation of our relationship be on the perceptions of a lie. I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but I am  _ glad  _ I fell in love with Anakin, because he gave me  _ you _ . You, Leia, and your brother. I know I didn’t raise you, and that I don’t get to claim credit for this, but I am  _ so proud  _ of the people you two have become. The Jedi who overthrew an Empire and the Princess who dedicated her life to building a better galaxy. You are my  _ hero.  _ Take my hand, Leia, so I can tell you the truth that might make all the difference: that Anakin didn’t fall to the dark side because he was a bad person, but because he loved too much.”

Leia looked down to her lap, where she hadn’t even noticed Luke had grabbed her spare hand to encourage her. She closed her eyes; it was  _ too much _ . “I can’t—I’m not ready.”

“Take my hand, Leia,” Padmé insisted, her palm still flat open in front of the princess. “It doesn’t mean anything other than that I’ll be there for you. That’s all I want, and that’s all I can promise you.”

“Let go of your past, Leia,” Luke asked her in a hoarse voice.

“Take my hand, Leia,” Padmé requested one more time. Unlike him, her voice didn’t falter.

“ _ Damn it _ ,” Leia cried under her breath, and before she could process her reaction, she had given her hand to Padmé, instantaneously feeling herself spark from their connection.

Padmé closed her fist tightly around her hand, her fingers reaching her wrist and feeling how fast Leia’s heart was pulsating. Leia still refused to look at her, or even open her eyes, but it didn’t matter because it was a start — it was a  _ start _ .

A promise that maybe, just maybe, they might be able to find a way into each other’s lives.

“This… This doesn’t change anything,” Leia said in a whisper. “I can’t… I’m still angry, I’m still mad, and holding hands doesn’t magically make it all go away.”

Padmé smiled sadly at her. “I know, Leia.”

“You can’t ask me to forgive Vader,  _ or  _ Anakin — because I won’t,” she clarified, tearing up. She was trying to keep it all in, but she didn’t know how much longer she’d be able to last. “The things that he did to me… The fact that he deliberately chose to hurt me… I don’t care that he didn’t know that I was his daughter, a decent human being wouldn’t inflict so much pain into others just for their own amusement. I can’t  _ ever  _ forgive him, and I need the  _ both  _ of you to respect that.”

“We respect you,” Luke was quick to say, “I’m sorry, I’ve been so caught up on my memories of him being  _ good  _ that I disregarded all your sentiments towards him. It won’t happen again, but if it does, you have full permission to slap me in the face.”

Leia let out a chuckle, although it could have been easily mistaken for a sob — in fact, neither Luke or Padmé could discern it. “It’s okay. And I’m  _ sorry,  _ for being an asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole,” Luke took it back. “I’m the one who needs to apologize for, you know, being an  _ ass  _ to you.”

She shook her head with a faint smile, “You’ve never been an ass to me, Luke.”

Before either of them had the chance to say anything else, their meals came, and they were obliged to separate their hands — which came as a disappointment to Luke, but removed the pressure that Leia felt on her shoulders. 

Leia had chosen a traditional dish from the Balosar system, that consisted of a rich, hearty stew made with different cuts of pork and black beans; she had visited the planet once during her youth, in a diplomatic trip, where she had sat down on the floor with the overworked and strained Balosars and enjoyed a meal with them. The planet was under the Empire’s jurisdiction and taken over by Imperial factories and an Imperial government, and its inhabitants had little to no rights, being forced to work for scratches of a survival. The dish, in particular, was made of the rest of the food consumed by the Imperials, that would be thrown to the garbage eventually, but the local population was so deprived that they would consume whatever it was thrown into their way. Personally, Leia had found the meal quite exquisite, and earlier in the evening, she had been eager to try it again — and she was certain Luke would have his reservations while looking at it. Now, however, she had lost her entire appetite.

As predicted, Luke started to play with the food in his plate, making funny faces while building up the courage to try it. It surely didn’t encourage him that Leia was doing the same, although for her own reasons, while Padmé kept her distance but with her eyes incessantly watching them. He didn’t even think she realized what she was doing, but she was leaving him uncomfortable either way.

Clearing his throat, he traded his fork for his glass of wine — stalling, and hoping no one else would notice his ulterior motives — and raised it. “To us. I know we’re pacing through a bumpy road, but I would like to take a moment to appreciate you. After my uncle and my aunt died, I thought I was all alone in the world. Then, I found a sister in my best friend, and the mother from whom I was separated came back to me. Now, I am whole again. Leia, mother, I love you. Cheers.”

Smiling broadly, Padmé raised her glass high as well. Meanwhile, Leia only picked it up and forced a grin to her lips, but was too unsettled to do anything else. Luckily, Luke was too busy to notice, sipping his wine in preparation for the battle he had yet to face with his meal.

He brought the fork to his mouth already with a grim on his face, that only intensified as he took his first bite. A few chews, a frown, and then, he tilted his head sideways with a surprised expression over his face. “This is quite good actually. I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Leia.”

Leia merely chuckled as he began to dive deep into dinner. Taking his cue, Padmé did the same, although she bore the class that a former Queen of Naboo would carry.

“Mother,” Luke called for her, his mouth full. “You said that… My father turned to the dark side because he loved too much.”

Padmé sighed heavily; she could tell how eager Luke was to learn of his past, and how much hope he still had for his late father. She didn’t doubt that he only did it out of his naivety, alongside an innate desire to know about the good in Anakin, but Padmé couldn’t take lightly Leia’s request of leaving her out of this part of the narrative. Worried, she looked at her daughter, fearing the reaction his question might have triggered; however, what she found worried her even more: Leia was so distraught she didn’t even seem to have heard them talk. Any other person, Padmé wouldn’t have spared a second thought about it, but Leia was always tuned to her surroundings, alarmed even, and her sudden retrieval concerned her.

Still looking at Leia, Padmé said, “Later, Luke. Now is not the time.”

Although Luke looked slightly disappointed, he accepted it with dignity. Padmé was relieved, as that gave her the ground to persecute another matter.

“Leia,” Padmé said her name quietly, dreading to catch her off guard and hoping it would be enough to get her attention — it wasn’t. “Leia.”

Leia’s redirection of her head back to Padmé was so slow that Padmé believed it had been merely a coincidence, especially when it took her a few extra seconds to acknowledge their presence there. “Hm. What?”

Padmé looked deep into the black eyes that refused to look back at her for more than three seconds straight. She didn’t know how to carefully tackle the issue in her mind, so she decided to be as forward as she could. “Do you want to die, Leia?”

The suddenness of her question caught her so off guard that Leia was unable to properly process it. For whole eternities, she only stared at Padmé with a blank face; not moving, not blinking, barely breathing. Luke completely lost his grip over the fork and the color was drained from his cheeks; with his breath stuck in his throat, he traded looks with Leia, and then Padmé, and then Leia again,  _ praying  _ either of them would start talking before he lost his mind.

“W—What…?”

Padmé was well aware that she had to thread careful next. “You talked about Alderaanians who were luckily off planet during the destruction, although they wished they weren’t. So I’m asking, do you want to die, Leia?”

Leia’s eyes were wide, and she opened and closed her lips several times in attempt to say something. She wanted to get mad at her for asking things that didn’t concern her as much as she wanted to cry for having someone pay such a close attention to her that they read further behind her façade. 

“I… I never said that, Padmé.”

“You implied,” she stated with a stern nod. “So, out of respect for you, I am asking, but I will not hesitate to take whatever measure necessary if find any concerning reasons.”

Closing her eyes, Leia inhaled deeply. She realized she was more found of the darkness then of the two sets of eyes preying over her. “No. I don’t want to die. I want to be with my people, yes, with my  _ family,  _ but that doesn’t make me want to die.”

It was true — Leia Organa did not want to die. She missed her family deeply, she missed being loved by her parents and she missed Alderaan, from its beautiful landscapes to its rich culture to the safety and peace it always brought her. She longed to be with them again, but she knew that dying wouldn’t have them magically reunited; she would only join them in their eternal slumber. Besides, she  _ couldn’t  _ die, as she had a duty to her remaining people to guide them through their loss, and it was her role to be strong for them.

And then, there were Han and Luke. The thought of leaving them forever — scared her.

There was a tight grip to her arm, forcing her to open her eyes again and grasp into reality once more. The despair she saw in Luke’s face terrified her. “You promise, Leia? You  _ promise _ ?”

With her heart on her throat, she answered honestly, “I  _ promise _ , Luke.”

He held her gaze for a while longer, making sure that she had told him the truth, and once he had ascertained her truth, he felt like he could breathe again. From the other side of the table, Padmé felt a wave of relief washing over her; she had no means of knowing the veracity of Leia’s promise, but Luke believed her — and for the moment, that was enough.

“Eat your dinner, Leia,” Luke bossed her, leaving behind all their quarrels of the night in order to reclaim his duty of looking after her. To Padmé, it was almost laughable their ability to tearing each other’s throat in a second, and deeply caring for each other in the next. Whenever she and her sister fought, they were able to remain days without speaking to each other.

Maybe that came from the depth of their connection as Force sensitive twins, maybe that came from the knowledge that if they turned on each other, they would have nothing left. Either way, it pleased her to see the sanctity of their bond.

“You’re not my mother,” Leia teased, very well aware of all the implications behind her sentence. For the first time in that night, the three of them laughed without constraint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so,,,,,,, this was a ROLLERCOASTER. so many things said, so much tension.......... and, at last, some character growth.
> 
> (but, don't worry, there's still so much story to come hehe)
> 
> now, a little of backstory: as you might not know, I'm Brazilian, and the dish mentioned in this story is a tradition meal here, called Feijoada. The story I brought here mimics reality, since this dish was the main food offered to the slaves back in the 1800s as the remaining of the food the slave owners consumed. So, yeah, art does imitate life sometimes haha. It's a delicious dish, though, 12/10 recommend. 
> 
> As usual, consider leaving me a comment. They make my day, and are the reason I keep writing!


	13. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for everyone who has taken the time to leave a comment in this story, but above all, a special thank you to [threepios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/threepios/pseuds/threepios) for helping with canon background on Owen Lars. They’re amazing, their fics are amazing, check them out!!

The three of them began their journey back to the rebel base late into the night.

Leia kept herself a few steps ahead of them, her head high and her eyes wide open, eager to make it back  _ home _ , as well as keeping herself alert to any potential threats that might come at them in the short duration of their walk — especially considering how distraught mother and son were behind her, catching up on everything that they had missed in the last twenty three years.

“You grew up on Tatooine, right?!” Padmé inquired, having her arms crossed over the blue silk of her shirt to protect herself from the chilly air of the night. “Under Owen and Beru’s care.”

“Yes!” Luke replied excitedly, trading looks between her and the road ahead of them. “Did you know them?”

“I met them once, yes,” Padmé nodded, “It wasn’t under the best circumstances, but I remember them to be good people. Of course, I have no authority to assume if their goodness extended to their parenthood, as people often aren’t what we believe, but I pray every night that they were  _ good  _ to you. I pray that you’ve had the best care while growing up.”

Luke smiled, reminiscing sadly the two people who had raised him. Aunt Beru had given him all her love, she had protected him from the harm in the world and, above all, from Uncle Owen’s anger outbursts. Uncle Owen hadn’t always been kind to him; he had mishandled him and overworked him more times than Luke could remember, ever since his childhood. He didn’t like those memories, though, so he was quick to throw them away.

“I was Beru’s son in all but name and — I hope it doesn’t bother you to say that, mother.”

“Luke,” she looked at him sideways. “I wasn’t your mother while you were growing up. I might be here now, but Leia is right—I am barely your mother right  _ now.  _ I still have to prove myself to you, that I am worthy of the title, but there isn’t anything that makes me happier than knowing that you were loved and cared for as a child. You and Leia. I couldn’t love you, because I didn’t know of you, but knowing you had the best childhood you could have been offered makes me sleep easier at night.”

“Growing up in Tatooine wasn’t easy,” he confessed, placing his hand on the small of her back in a small act of appreciation. He looked back on his life in Tatooine, on the good and on the bad, and how the bad didn’t always make it up for the good. He had never shared the burdens of his childhood, not even with Leia, and decided on a whim to speak about it for the first time. Padmé loved him, and so did Leia; he trusted them enough to revisit the hard aspects of his past. “Resources were scarce, and the Hutt reigned freely over the land, spreading fear and oppression across all the planet, but Aunt Beru always protected me from that, she protected me…from Uncle  _ Owen _ .”

Padmé suddenly looked at Luke with concern; even Leia, who seemed so absorbed in her own personal world, was taken aback, her feelings switching off like a flick, and Luke could almost touch the hollowness of her presence in the Force with a fingertip.

“Luke?”

Just like his sister, there was a new halo of sadness around Padmé. Momentarily, he regretted mentioning the hardship of his childhood to them — he didn’t want them to share his pain, he only wanted to keep his past buried — but, at the same time, he was  _ relieved.  _

“Uncle Owen… wasn’t made for parenthood, I would say. I know for a fact that he hadn’t been very keen on taking me in, on taking Anakin’s  _ son.  _ I know that Aunt Beru had to convince him to do so, and he didn’t see me as his  _ child,  _ barely his nephew. You see, his father used to be a slave owner, and I guess… You can’t ever change one’s true self and beliefs, right? Because I grew up working in the moist farm with him,  _ for  _ him, and it wasn’t always under the best of circumstances.”

Luke felt Leia reaching for him with the Force, trying to touch his soul with her love and caring for him. He smiled at it; it wasn’t always that Leia would give in to her innate power — in fact, she almost never did — and he appreciated her going out of her way to make sure that he remembered, that he  _ knew,  _ the depth of her love for him. He would never have asked her to leave her comfort zone for him, considering everything they had discussed that night, and her willingness of doing so in the moments he most needed confirmed that he would always,  _ always,  _ have her by his side.

“Uncle Owen lost his temper far too often, and not in a healthy way. He would become angry and violent, with me and with Aunt Beru, and the results of his outburst weren’t…  _ pretty.  _ But I had Aunt Beru, who always created the illusion that everything was always…  _ safe,  _ even if they weren’t, even when I  _ knew  _ they weren’t. She provided me the safest childhood she could, amidst a dangerous Outer Rim world, amidst Uncle Owen’s attitude. Of course, I never knew any different, but thanks to her, I always felt like I had  _ enough _ .”

Leia hugged herself tightly, not realizing it, with a strange feeling consuming her. She wondered why Luke had never confined in her about his childhood — a little hypocritical of her, sure, considering that she  _ never  _ told him of any of the bad stuff that had happened to her during the war. However, Luke had always been the talkative one, the rambling one, so she pondered whether she had ever given him the impression that he couldn’t come to her, or if they were simply two birds of a feather.

Looking down to her feet pacing the pavement, Leia felt a wave of guilt washing over her. She knew that it wasn’t  _ her fault _ , but it pained her to know that she had been given  _ everything _ , ever since her first breath, ever since Bail and Breha Organa first held her in their arms, while Luke had been paid dust and given to live amidst dirt. It wasn’t fair that she had had everything, while he had had nothing — not even love.

“I wonder why my father didn’t take you in,” Leia whispered, more to herself than to either of them. She wondered what it would be like, to grow up with a twin brother to drive Bail and Breha insane, and the kind of trouble they would get themselves in. “I  _ wish  _ my father would have taken you in.”

Feeling her anguish, Luke reached out for her, touching her shoulder with the palm of his hand and giving it a strong squeeze. “It’s  _ alright _ , Leia. The life I had made me the person I am today, and I wouldn’t trade it for any illusion. Aunt Beru will always hold a special place in my heart, the memories of her will always remain over the bad memories. She was  _ home _ , and I miss her dearly.”

“I’m sorry, Luke, You didn’t deserve the pain of a harsh childhood,” Padmé said earnestly, leaning closer to him. Although he was no longer looking at her, she noticed that his eyes were glowing from his memories; she wanted nothing more than to erase everything bad from his past. “And I’m sorry for your loss. She was a good person.”

“She’s one of greatest women I know. She was under no obligation to take me in, or even to raise mas her own. But she did, and I’ll eternally be on the debt of her kindness and her love,” he said, and didn’t have to elaborate that the only other women that met those standards were Leia and Padmé themselves.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Leia, for the first time, looked at him, and spoke in a voice so low, because Padmé wasn’t entitled to hear about the intimacy she had with her brother. “If you’re ever having a bad day, or a day where you just miss home so much. I’m  _ here  _ for you.”

Luke merely gave her a pointed stare, “You’re the one to  _ talk _ .”

Her cheeks burned like fire, and he chuckled at her immediate reaction. Still, she wasn’t the one to easily give in. “I mean it, Luke.”

“I know, Leia,” he smiled tenderly at her, while looking for Padmé’s hand in the air; she found his first. “I’m not ashamed of it, of my upbringing. I think this is just the sort of thing we keep to ourselves, that we lock in little chests inside of us and keep it safe so only we can find it. I know you understand the sentiment.”

Leia abruptly faced ahead of her again; she understood it all too well. She had so many of those little chests hidden inside of her that she wasn’t certain how many more she could fit in before she had  _ too much _ . Interpreting her body language, Luke gave her shoulder another tight squeeze, reminding her that she wasn’t alone, either.

Sighing nearly imperceptibly, he carried on, letting the flow of life from both his mother and his sister linked to him consume his being. “Beru’s death prompted me to leave Tatooine. Tatooine was never my home,  _ she  _ was. Had she survived Owen, I’m not so certain I would be able to leave her behind. Had Owen died, she would have needed me the most. And I refuse to ever abandon those I love.”

“You’re a honorable person, Luke,” Padmé said, a twinge in her heart that she couldn’t get rid of. All because of her, Luke had undergone things a child should never go through — exactly like Anakin. Except, unlike Anakin, Padmé hadn’t been able to save  _ him.  _ Not until he had saved himself. “You’re a strong person.”

He appreciated the words; he didn’t hear them often enough, and he had never realized before how much difference they could make.

“I’ll always miss her, but sometimes I wonder what would have happened if Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen hadn’t been killed by the Imperials. In a way, their death gave me my freedom. It allowed me to get to where I am, to  _ be  _ who I am today. History would have gone down a lot differently — I’m not trying to paint me as some sort of hero, I just wonder. I wouldn’t have left Tatooine when the rebellion needed me the most and…” he gazed at Leia, trying to conjure a thought. “Never mind.”

Padmé frowned at how abruptly he interrupted his tray of thinking. “What is it, Luke?”

He simply shook his head sideways, waving it off. It was Leia who spoke for him, “He’s saying that if the Lars hadn’t died, he would have stayed in Tatooine and I would have died on the Death Start. Either way that history went down… Luke couldn’t have won. One of us had to go.”

Luke looked down to the ground, caught up in his own misery.

“Of course, he wouldn’t have known of me had he stayed in Tatooine, so my death wouldn’t have affected him. But he knows me now, and he feels like he’s betraying me for even considering that. In the end, it doesn’t really matter. We can’t unwind time, we can’t go back and fix our mistakes in the hopes of a different future. We can only wish.”

Padmé wondered what mistake that Leia desired to fix, but she didn’t had the chance to ponder too deeply into it, as Luke soon spoke up, “They wouldn’t have killed you, Leia.”

She shot him a glare over her shoulder, his hand no longer lingering there. “I was scheduled for  _ execution,  _ Luke.”

He chuckled at her intonation. “You were a far more profitable asset to them alive than dead, Leia, you had valuable knowledge of the rebellion in your mind. They wouldn’t be crazy to execute you.”

Leia returned her eyes to the road, whispering to herself more than to them, “I’m not sure that would have been any better than dying.”

She had often wondered what her fate would have been if Luke and Han hadn’t come to her. And her nightmares, especially in the aftermaths of the battle of Yavin, provided her with far too many possible scenarios. Had Vader sensed she was Force sensitive, it was very likely that he and the Emperor would exploit her powers so she turned dark like them — she liked to believe she wouldn’t have broken, but considering her emotional state after witnessing Alderaan blowing up to dust, she most likely would have. Thinking about it alone made her shiver.

“Did they…” Padmé swallowed hard, unsure if she was ready for the answer that her question would trigger — or if she even wanted to hear it. “Did they hurt you, Leia?”

Padmé wasn’t naïve; she didn’t doubt for a second that the Imperials would use whatever means necessary to obtain information from their prisoners, regardless of how inhuman their methods were. They didn’t care about morals or democracy, only of establishing and increasing power for themselves — and that was why they were so dangerous to the galaxy. However, she wouldn’t think they would be as reckless as to touch a high ranking member of the Senate, and a princess nonetheless! Not only did she have full diplomatic immunity, but if civilians came to know that the untouchable had been touched, that if a royal princess couldn’t have been protected from their hands, therefore there was no guarantee for their own safety, then the Empire would start to lose their sympathy. 

Unless the imperials had every intention of killing her afterwards, or at least guaranteeing that Leia wouldn’t talk. Truth be told, Padmé wasn’t sure why she wouldn’t. Leia was an outspoken person, she wouldn’t have kept her treatment on the Death Star to herself if it meant attracting more people to the cause. If Padmé wasn’t aware of how complicated people were, she would have taken it a sign that nothing  _ had  _ happened to her.

Leia kept her head high. “It doesn’t matter.”

Tingles of anticipation ran down Padmé’s spine — Leia’s answer did little to ease her nerves. “Leia, if you—”

“So,  _ Padmé _ ,” Leia sharply cut her off, shooting her a pointed stare and a forced smile, “Why don’t you tell us about your life for the past twenty years?!” 

Padmé swallowed hard. Her stomach was uneasy, and she definitely didn't feel like talking about herself. In fact, she didn’t feel like talking at all. She had considered that, as she learned more about the lives of her children, the possibilities of finding about things that wouldn’t be comfortable to hear were quite high, but as she started to unravel the two of them, she learned of matters that a mother would never want to see their child going through. 

Leia only sighed, shaking her head negatively and crossing her arms. 

Unfortunately for Padmé, Luke failed his Jedi instincts by not noticing the sudden edginess in the air. “ _ Do  _ tell us, mother.”

Padmé wetted her lips; if they both wanted her to move on, perhaps that would be the best course of action. “After the fall of the Republic, I had to put Padmé Amidala to eternally rest. With the help of an old friend, I fled to Raada, a small farming moon in the Outer Rim. There, I became a new person, with a new name. I secluded myself a job in a local rich farm, where I had to take care of the landlord’s children. Taro and Safira Abdallah; I loved them as my own, even if they weren’t. I didn’t raise them, no, they had a loving father and a loving mother, but watching them grow… It almost fulfilled the hole that your  _ death  _ had left me.”

“It mustn’t have been easy,” Luke commented, “To leave them behind, I mean.”

Padmé agreed, and — was that jealousy that she heard behind his voice? If so, she had to hold herself back not to laugh at it. “It was. But like I said, they weren’t  _ my  _ children. I looked after them, I cared for them as much as my role in their lives permitted, but I wasn’t their mother. When I learned of you, Luke, I instantly knew I needed to find you. Even if you wanted nothing to do with me, I just wished to look at you with my own eyes once. I thought it would have been enough, but now I’m not so sure I could have ever turned my back to you.”

“I wouldn’t have asked you to,” he assured her, choosing to ignore that that had been exactly what Leia had told her. “Can I meet them, one day? Taro and Safira, I mean. I would love to learn about you from the perspective of someone  _ other  _ than you.”

Padmé chuckled; his request was sweet. “The person I was to them is completely different from the person I am here, Luke. They don’t know anything about Padmé, only of the name that I became to them.”

“I hear you, but people rarely ever drifted too far from their essence,” Luke said, “Unless, of course, you’re a powerful Jedi who fell to the Dark side.”

She didn’t exactly agree with him; she believed she had been several different people across her life, depending of where she was and whom she was with. For sure, Queen Amidala and teenage Padmé had been two completely different people. Besides, traumatic events tended to change a person’s view of the world — and from the way Leia glanced at him sideways, Padmé knew they shared the same opinion.

“I would love for you to meet them,” she simply replied, making sure not to say his name so Leia would feel included — if she wanted to. “I’d like to bring them out here someday, when things are calmer. Safira has never traveled off world, and… Yes, I’d like for you to meet them, too.”

Luke beamed, proudly. By now, the rebel base had already entered their field of vision.

“I have a question,” at last, Leia broke the prolonged silence she had entered, and both Padmé and Luke peeked at her with curiosity. That had been the first time that Leia had expressed any interest  _ at all _ towards Padmé, considering that she had only probed about Padmé’s life in Raada to throw her off the questions she didn’t want — perhaps, wasn’t ready to — answer. “You’ve mentioned your life before Vader, you’ve mentioned your life  _ post  _ Vader. But not once did you mention what precisely  _ happened  _ so we’d be separated from you, to the point you thought we were  _ dead _ .”

With a heavy sigh, Padmé realized — Leia wasn’t interested in her story, she wasn’t curious to know where she herself had come from. No; Leia was all but interrogating her, and her demand had been as ruthless as an Imperial interrogator. 

Padmé wasn’t sure of how she felt about that,  _ especially  _ when she didn’t have any answers to give. And it didn’t help that Luke was once again staring at her with those big dove eyes. She didn’t know how to refute those eyes.

“I haven’t talked about it, Leia,” she threaded carefully, “Because I’m not sure of it myself.”

Cynically, Leia scoffed. “Convenient.”

“It’s the truth,” Padmé assured, uncertain of why being doubted bothered her so much. Her story had  _ no  _ credibility whatsoever; people — especially Leia — had no reason why to trust her; and, most of all, she had been a senator in the Galactic Senate. Being doubted used to be so natural to her, what had changed? “I fell asleep while still carrying you inside my womb. I woke up empty, being told that you were dead. After that, I just gave up.”

Luke pressed his hand firmly to her waist, in half a hug. She appreciated his effort to comforting her, even if she no longer felt sad about that specific page in her history. Infuriated, yes, for believing everything she was told without fighting back, but not sad.

She had no reason to be sad anymore. Not now that she stood tall between her two children.

Even if one of her children wasn’t having the easiest time to accept her.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Leia argued, pacing more slowly so she wouldn’t be ahead of them and have the means to studying Padmé’s face.

“Leia,” Luke warned her, only to receive a rolling of eyes from Leia’s end.

“It’s okay, Luke,” Padmé calmly gestured with her hand in front of him, to hold him back. “No, Leia, it doesn’t make sense. However, I was  _ grieving  _ for everything that I had lost, including you, so I never stopped to think clearly. Not until I learned of you, and realized that something was wrong.”

“You think your friend lied to you?” Luke asked, and Padmé was glad the question had come from him and his sweet, kind voice, not from Leia’s accusatory tone.

“I don’t know,” Padmé felt herself incredibly small in that moment. “I like to think she wouldn’t, but I… I genuinely don’t know anymore. I remember being surrounded only by people I loved and cared for, that wouldn’t betray me, but honestly? I don’t know anymore. I don’t want to question them, but… somehow, I was separated from you. I can’t sit idly and ignore that.”

“Who was there with you?” Luke prompted, “Maybe we can ask them.”

“I doubt it,” she said, “They’re mostly likely all dead by now.”

“Try us.”

“Well, I think Yoda was there. I know for a fact that Obi-wan Kenobi was there and…” she gulped, remembering vividly the talk she had had with Mon Mothma a few days before and consciously going against everything that they had discussed — but Leia had been  _ the  _ one to bring it up, not the other around. Padmé braced herself, “And Bail Organa.”

The twins suddenly stopped walking, so in synch it would have appeared they had coordinated it before. Padmé had to turn around completely to face them again, and she found Luke with perplexed eyes, while Leia looked genuinely wounded. They both stood there looking pale, as if they had just seen a ghost, and Padmé — Padmé only then realized how much they looked alike.

“Ben was there?!”

“My… My father?”

Padmé was overwhelmed; not only she had her own emotions to deal with, but she carried the burden of Luke and Leia’s as well. Not knowing which of them she should address first gave her a headache. She had Luke begging for specks of his—their—past, and then she had Leia with grieving eyes only at the mention of those she had loss. Padmé raised her hand to her forehead, trying to think.

“Who’s… Who’s Ben?”

“Ben?!” Luke look momentarily confused, “Oh, you mean Obi-wan Kenobi.”

Padmé was puzzled; had she  _ missed  _ something during her refuge? “I thought Obi-wan had died in the Jedi purge.”

“What? No,” Luke spoke with a tainted expression. “He went into hiding in Tatooine. To look after me from the distance, I guess. My guardian angel.”

Her eyes suddenly became glassy; she hadn’t seen Obi-wan in so long. She could reunite with a dear friend of her past, her husband’s  _ best friend _ , one last time —  _ one more time _ . And to know that he had looked after her son in her absence! It came to her as a relief that both her children had been somehow guarded by people she once trusted. 

“Obi-wan is not dead?”

Her voice was so full of hope that Luke hated himself for being the bearer of bad news. “I’m sorry, Padmé. Obi-wan sacrificed himself years ago, so the rebellion could live.”

“Oh,” Padmé’s gaze instantaneously dropped. She felt foolish for setting her hopes so high — it was time she accepted it: everything and everyone from her past life was gone. She only had herself, and the twins, to build a new life.

“I can sense you were great friends,” Luke said, walking towards her and placing both his hands over her shoulders. “I will be speaking of you the next times he visits. And, I’ll ask him about what happened during our birth. Hopefully, he’ll have the answers we seek.”

She still didn’t find the courage to look up. “What are you talking about? You said he’s dead.”

“He is. But he’s very strong in the Force, therefore, there he lives forever, and I’m able to reach to him,” Luke spoke proudly, “He hasn’t come to me for a while, though, now that my training is complete and I don’t need him. But I have faith that we’ll see each other again.”

She had a lot of questions about this new knowledge, but one spoke louder than the others. “Does that… Does that mean… Anakin?”

“Yes!” Luke nearly screamed in his excitement. “I’ve met Anakin, I saw the man that he was. He hasn’t come to me a lot of times, no — I fear he’s still struggling with everything he’s done. But I look forward to the day he forgives himself and understand he’s worthy of being loved again. I know how much you two cared for each other, so he’ll be the happiest to learn that you’re still alive.”

Padmé swallowed hard, reminiscing the time they had last saw each other — when he had all but stolen the life from her. She hoped  _ Darth Vader  _ suffered with the knowledge that he had killed the one person to unconditionally love him, just as he hoped Anakin struggled with the consequences of his deeds. Still, he lived in the light again, and that pleased her in the slightest.

At last, she looked at Leia, worried that she would react badly hearing Luke speak so fondly of Anakin; however, she found the princess with the same faint expression of before, like she had been frozen in her mourning.

“Leia?” Padmé broke all contact with Luke and carefully paced towards Leia. It took Leia a while to redirect her gaze from nothing at all and back to her birth mother.

“Why was my father there?” she asked, lower than a whisper. Scared to learn the answer — and potentially have her illusion of life changed forever.

“He was my friend, Leia,” Padmé spoke from her heart, “We stood together side by side as we watched the Republic crumble and Palpatine seize power all for himself. I don’t know  _ why  _ he was there, but I trusted him with my life.”

Leia glared at her intensely, before turning on her heels and restarting her journey back towards the base. She walked faster than usual, almost like she was running away from the two of them.

“Leia…! Damn it,” Padmé cussed, rushing towards her until they were side by side again; she didn’t even bother to check if Luke had followed them. “What are you  _ thinking,  _ Leia?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Leia once again said, speeding up in the hopes Padmé would be left slightly behind, to no avail.

Padmé resisted to urge to roll her eyes. Honestly, everything would be so much easier if Leia just opened up about her feelings, rather than shutting everything and everyone out. “Except—it  _ does  _ matter.”

Leia abruptly stopped again, facing Padmé with eyes of fire. “If someone who knew the future pointed out a child to you and told you that that child would grow up to end all that was evil, that they would overthrow a ruthless dictator who destroyed millions of lives,  _ if  _ they were separated from those that gave life to them, could you tear mother and child apart?”

Padmé stared at her blankly, devoid of any expression — devoid of any  _ answer.  _ She could only stared at Leia while her mind tried to process. “What…?”

Calmy, Leia proceeded to repeat, “If you had to choose between the good common or your ethics, would you steal children from their mother?”

Padmé’s heart was pounding rapidly inside her chest. She didn’t want to answer that —  _ frankly,  _ she wasn’t so certain that she knew the answer to her question. She would like to believe that she would hold to her morals and make the right choice, but she had been there during the fall of the Republic, she had watched Palpatine do despicable things with her own eyes. If she had the chance to stop him, even if it meant going against her morals, wouldn’t she do it?

Wouldn’t  _ everybody  _ that she had worked closely with do it? Including Yoda, Obi-wan and Bail Organa?

Exhaling deeply to herself, she said, “Bail Organa was a good man, Leia.”

“Nobody is questioning that,” Leia fussed her brows together.

“Aren’t you?” Padmé instigated, deflecting the pressure from her shoulders to Leia’s, as if that would be enough to dismay the ethical conflict inside of her.

“I  _ know  _ that my father was a good man, Padmé,” she said harshly, a tad annoyed. “I believe I knew him better than you did.”

“You wouldn’t have brought this up if you didn’t sense that something was  _ odd _ ,” Padmé lectured her. “You wouldn’t have asked me about this if suddenly you didn’t feel like you were no more than a pawn in a power game. That your whole life was a façade, that you were raised as a puppet in a political scheme. That you were loved, sure, but only as a consequence of whom you were supposed to grow to be.”

Leia’s eyes became filled to the brim with tears. Although her face remained neutral to the emotions inside, her eyes betrayed her, and Padmé — Padmé damned herself. By now, she had lost count of how many times she had spited Leia in the course of  _ one  _ evening, accidentally or not. At this rate, she feared it wouldn’t be long until she alienated Leia completely.

“So you do believe my father betrayed you and  _ stole  _ me from you,” Leia concluded, unable to look away, no matter how much she wanted to. Behind them, she felt Luke lurking, too aghast to take any action. “How long did you plan to keep that from me?”

“Leia, please, listen to me,” Padmé was so desperate she begged. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t have any solid memories of your birth, only flashes and sensations, and I can’t rely on that.  _ However,  _ I can certify you of something: regardless of how history went down,  _ you  _ were the most loved baby in the entire galaxy. I was  _ friends  _ with your father, Leia, we were close and we confined in each other. I know the pain your parents endured from Breha being unable to carry a child, I saw your father  _ cry  _ to me because him and Breha had too much love to offer, and no child to give it to. For what’s worth, Leia, I am  _ glad  _ that they chose to give you a home. They longed for you, prayed for you, and you deserved to have parents who loved you so intensely. Like I said, I don’t know what happened, but neither can I rewrite the past. I’m not trying to steal you from your parents, and I don’t want to replace them. I am forever in Breha and Bail’s debt.”

Somewhere during Padmé’s articulation, Leia’s eyes fell to the ground. Her breathing pattern was now beyond her control, and her voice broke as she stated, “It doesn’t matter anymore. They’re both dead.”

“You’re wrong, Leia. It’ll always matter,” Padmé tried, in a soothing voice. “Their death doesn’t erase all their love for you.”

Leia sniffed, wrapping her arms around herself. Her eyes were heavy, and there was a certain discomfort coming from inside her chest. She desired to be alone, so she could properly mourn for Breha and Bail Organa. Padmé’s return was taking a ton out of her, and she traced it back entirely to their death. She didn’t think she would have take it so hard were they still alive — not only would they help her be at peace with Padmé’s entity, but that’d mean Padmé wouldn’t be a constant reminder that Bail and Breha were  _ dead.  _ She just wanted to put them to rest.

Without an invitation, Padmé placed her hand over Leia’s arms, as if that would bring her any comfort. Leia unconsciously flinched at the first contact, but didn’t pull away, and Padmé took it as a sign that she didn’t mind the gesture. In an act of courage, Padmé stepped forward and pulled Leia into a hug.

Leia was startled from the suddenness of her act; however, she did not pull away. She didn’t embrace her back, she just stood there, allowing herself to be held, to be  _ vulnerable,  _ as she rarely allowed herself to be. As the first strings of tears descended her face, into the fabric of Padmé’s blouse, Padmé tightened her hold, having one of her hands around Leia’s waist, while the other rested behind her head, certifying that Leia was  _ safe  _ inside the comfort of her embrace.

All Padmé did was to wrap her up in her arms and hold on tight, without any selfishness to it.

It reminded Leia of a mother’s embrace.

“I miss them,” Leia confessed, helpless to stop her stream of tears anymore.

Padmé didn’t say anything. There was no point, nothing she said could ever erase Leia’s pain. For the moment, she was content that Leia had lowered her walls enough to allow her in. That was all she ever wanted — to be there for her daughter. 

She opened her eyes briefly to look at Luke in the far back, to find him staring at the stars with a faint smile to his lips.

A smile, Padmé knew, appreciating of the two women he loved the most bonding at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not gonna lie, i had originally intended dinner to take one chapter only, but then i kept writing and the angst kept coming to me and whelp, here we are hehe. also, i’m a SUCKER for this last moment between Leia and Padmé, they’re at last getting somewhere.
> 
> also, it has come to my attention that some of you don’t feel comfortable leaving a comment in english. well, don’t be shy! i speak all english, portuguese, spanish, italian, and french, and google translate exists for all the other languages out there haha


	14. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, i think this is the funniest chapter so far, and i hope y'all will share some laughs reading it as i did writing it :)

When the trio finally arrived at the rebel base, they stood in front of the main gate with an awkward stance. So much had happened in the span of one evening — more than they were ready to process — that it left them unsure of their immediate future.

“Well, then,” Padmé was the first one to break their silence, digging her nails into the fabric of her leggings. “I guess this is good night, then.”

“I agree,” Luke was quick to say, standing next to Padmé and opposite to Leia. “It’s been a long evening. A good one, but long nonetheless. We should all try to get some rest.”

He gave Leia a firm nod, waiting for her to say something — to concur, to interfere, to  _ anything _ — but she remained perfectly still, with her arms crossed and her head high.

“Alright, then,” in the absence of any response from either of the girls, Luke carried on, “I’ll walk with you to your quarters, mother. Leia… Thank you for coming tonight. It means a lot.”

Leia simply smiled at him with her lips closed, offering them small, quiet farewells, that were met in the same tone. She remained there as Luke and Padmé turned around and began a slow walk towards their destination; itching, there was a strange feeling of agitation coming from her mind—her heart?—and she was itching to—

“Wait,” Leia called for them, not loud, just enough to have herself heard. She refused to move as they looked at her again, or even talk what was on her mind until they had made all the way back to her. Even then, it still took her awhile to gather her thoughts and prompt, “Would you like to meet Han?”

If Padmé had to choose one word to describe her reaction in that moment, it would be bewildered. In the week that she had been there, she had heard everything about Han from Luke, to the point she felt intimate with the strange man already, although she hadn’t been allowed to meet him from Leia’s end. From Luke’s ramblings, she had gathered that he was Leia’s boyfriend, maybe her paramour, perhaps even her concubine — Luke had struggled to put a name to it — and that they had the most complicated relationship, one that involved several failed rescues — on both accounts — lots of bickering and bantering and tearing each other’s heads off, and a few too many years of denying their own feelings. Padmé wasn’t so sure what to make of their relationship, except for one thing: their irrefutable love for one another.

Which was why Padmé found herself astounded at the sudden invitation. To have reached somewhere good on Leia’s grace to be proposed to meet her boyfriend—paramour—concubine—honestly she’d rather wait until Leia herself offered a solid term for their relationship—meant that she must have done something  _ right _ .

Leia stared at her expectantly, scared even, and Padmé only realized she had been waiting for an answer for longer than social norms demanded one second too late. 

“I would love to, Leia, yes.”

Padmé tried not to show too much contentment in her voice, although she was bursting with it inside. She understood she had to be careful, so Leia would not retreat again — and Padmé was terrified they would accidentally take a step back. Also, she had realized how nervous the young princess seemed to have become as they followed her towards wherever Han was; she incessantly picked on the skin of her own arm, as well as bit down on her inner lip a few times, and even appeared to have gotten lost a couple of times while trying to lead the way.

Padmé didn’t comment, nor did Luke, and moments later they had arrived at the hangar and followed up some old spaceship’s ramp.

“Han…?” Leia called for him loudly, slamming her closed fist against the metal surface of the Millennium Falcon’s walls, mimicking knocks. Silence prevailed for too long until she tried again, “Chewie?”

A loud howl came from the depths of the ship, and Leia smiled — yes, that was the sound of coming home.

Soon after, a Wookie came into sight and Padmé unconsciously flinched at his sudden big figure. She wasn’t scared of the Wookie — at least, she didn’t think she was — but the giant beast emerging was the last thing she had expected. She watched in pure awe as he squeezed Leia into a hug, and then ruffled his paw over Luke’s blonde hair. What surprised her the most, however — neither of the twins seemed to mind.

They looked like a family.

The Wookie moaned something unintelligible to Padmé’s ears, but his head gesturing to  _ her  _ gave her a good insight of what he wanted to know. She was correct, as Leia answered, “It’s okay, she’s with us. Is Han here?”

He roared.

Leia consented with her head, still probing Chewbacca with her eyes, “Is he  _ dressed _ ?”

The query made Padmé instantaneously blush — that was certainly  _ more  _ than she wanted to know. She wasn’t a prude, or, at least, she didn’t think she was, considering she had had her fair share of fun during her youth, but it didn’t exactly make her comfortable to be picturing either of the twins doing stuff of the sort. It came to her as a consolation that probably every mother in the galaxy shared this overprotectiveness, but she wished she could shake it off.

Luke’s snort next to her caught her off guard; she dreaded to think of whatever scenario that had prompted this interaction to happen. Likewise, the Wookie laughed freely — or she thought that was how a Wookie laugh resembled — and he growled something else, that made both Leia and Luke look slightly relieved. He finally let go of Leia and waved that they all should follow him inside.

A short walk and they found themselves on the Millennium Falcon’s lounge, where Han sat all by himself. He was so distracted with whatever was going through his head that it took him a little too long to realize he was no longer alone, and he jumped to his feet when he noticed Leia walking up to him with her usual tenure.

“You’re busy?” she asked him quietly, and in her eyes there was an expression that he couldn’t quite describe. She looked exhilarated, but there also was some apprehension written all over her face — and here he thought he was getting good in reading her!

“No,” he simply said, looking down on her but taking casual peeks at Luke behind her, as well as the strange woman. “Who’s your friend?”

Of course, he already knew that. And he assumed Padmé did as well — it might have been his ego talking, but it was quite possible that his existence had come up in a conversation or two. However, he would willingly give Leia all the control over the narrative as possible.

“Han,” she took a step back, getting out of the way between the two of them. “This is Padmé. She’s, uh,” she grimaced at herself, trying to convey a proper word to describe  _ who  _ she was and failing. “Padmé, this is Han, my, uh…”

Leia would like to crawl into a hole and hide. Why were her words, her only true ally, failing her? Why did  _ everything  _ have to be so complicated?!

Desiring to avoid any further awkwardnesses, Padmé stepped forward and extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Han. I’ve heard an awfully lot about you.”

Taking her hand in his, Han bent forward and kissed her gently on the knuckles, before offering her his trademark smirk, “All bad I hope.”

Luke’s jaw dropped at his sudden demonstration of politeness. When he turned over to face Leia, she looked equally aghast. “There’s no  _ way  _ you didn’t put him up to this.”

“I didn’t!” Leia yelped, having no idea of why Han was suddenly acting like the perfect gentleman — did he have a  _ fever  _ or something?

Unsure of what they were on about, Padmé simply focused on her new acquaintance. “Oh, you don’t have to worry. It’s  _ all  _ bad.”

Laughing freely, Han leaned back just in time for the Wookie to shriek in protest.

“I didn’t forget you, Chewie,” Leia spoke with the graceful smile she reserved for him only. “Padmé, this is Chewbacca. It might be a little tricky to understand him at first, but you’ll soon catch up. He’s…  _ family _ .”

Padmé smiled at him. “I’m delighted to meet you, Chewbacca,” she said, “I have to admit, I’m quite surprised with your presence here. Wookies aren’t known for living away from their tribes, unless, of course, they form a life debt to someone who has saved their lives. I assume that’s what happened here?”

Han looked at her funnily, meanwhile Luke was completely at awe with her knowledge, so he asked, “How did you know that?”

Padmé didn’t have much a chance to talk, as Chewbacca started to roar for a prolonged time, as if he was telling her a story. She could only stare at him with interest as she waited for someone to translate.

“He’s saying that he’d originally got a life debt to me,” Han explained, not getting rid of his frown. “But over the span of the last few years, it has expanded to Leia and Luke as well.”

Leia looked down at her feet, well aware that Chewbacca’s life debt had mostly passed on to her because Han had asked him, moments before he’d been frozen in the carbonite. The debt consisted of Chewbacca giving his own life if it meant saving Han, but there was little that Chewbacca could have done in the face of Darth Vader himself — other than to promise to take care of her. She didn’t mind it; she had taken comfort on this presence on those ruthless months without Han.

She didn’t think Chewbacca needed to protect her from harm, but it had been nice to have someone by her side who understood very well the pain of losing Han.

“How did you know?” Han asked again, once Luke’s question hadn’t been answered. 

Padmé smiled shyly at the accusatory tone behind Han’s voice. “Wookies remained loyal to the Galactic Republic until its end. They fought alongside us in the Clone Wars, and, even though I never worked directly with them, I learned of their culture in the Senate. That’s how I know of a Wookie’s life debt.”

Han’s expression seemed to soothe after her explanation, or maybe it was given Chewbacca’s long sentences of rumbles — which no one bothered to translate to Padmé.

“You worked in the Senate, mother?” Luke shined over the realization that his mother had been someone  _ important.  _ So far, little did he know about her past, and he felt a little guilty for not asking her sooner.

Leia frowned towards mother and son, “You’ve never told him?”

His eyes widened at Leia. He knew there was no reason why he should be jealous of Leia — of Leia! Who had verbally stated several times that she wanted nothing with Padmé — however, he couldn’t help but feeling a little conflicted that Padmé would confide something in Leia that she didn’t in him. 

“Told me what?!”

Padmé flushed at their queries, unsure of her reasons, as her titles had once been her pride. “Yes, I… I represented Naboo on the Galactic Senate until my death, and…” she swallowed hard, believing it was best to leave out that she had sided with Palpatine during the naivety of her youth. “I also served my people as their elected Queen for two consecutive terms during my adolescence.”

“You were a  _ Queen _ ?!” Luke nearly gasped in surprise, his jaw visibly falling down and leavings his lips agape. Then, all of sudden, his curiosity peaked, “Does that mean I’m a prince, too?”

“No.”

“ _ No _ .”

Han and Leia said simultaneously. Him, because Luke would become insufferable if he claimed the title of a Prince — it was already enough having to hear his Jedi mumbo-jumbo. Her, however, because Luke would never understand the burden of carrying a crown, and, therefore, it would come as a mockery to the title she had given her life for.

Padmé only chuckled at him. “I’m sorry, it doesn’t work like that. In Naboo, royalty isn’t blood descended. It’s earned. The people elect their Monarch—usually, a young woman, as it was believed that they possessed a form of pure, childlike wisdom that adults lacked. I, myself, was only fourteen when I was elected their leader.”

Although she kept her arms safely secured around her own torso, Leia looked at her in awe. “That’s a lot of burden to place on the shoulders of a child.”

Leia meant it. Of course, with the idealism and naïvity at her own age of fourteen, she thought she was ready to take down the Emperor with her own hands; now, almost ten years later, she didn’t consider herself ready to earn the crown of Alderaan. There was so much she still had to learn and even more for where to fail. Leia meant it, because it was a burden to guide the thousands of Alderaan's strained without a home in her adulthood; she didn’t think she would have been able to do it during her adolescence.

“It is,” Padmé agreed sadly. “Looking back, I don’t think I was ready. I don’t think I was old enough, although I had willingly chosen that life. Still, I am proud to have made a difference to my people. To have rightfully done my duty.”

“I bet you were a wonderful queen, mother,” Luke said, with his usual high spirit. “I’d love to hear stories about your reign some other time.”

Padmé conceded with a small, but noticeable nod, which brought a small window of uncomfortable silence until Leia dared to say, “I’ll bring us some tea, yes?”

Leia held her gaze to the opposite wall rather than the three of them for a few solid seconds, almost as if she were waiting for  _ it  _ to talk back over the human beings there, and when it didn’t, she left towards the galley, having Chewbacca follow immediately after her to help. 

Once she was gone, Padmé sighed tiredly. She didn’t expect it to be noticed, but both men shot her inquiring stares. Because of that, she let out, “I just… I just wish Leia would  _ talk _ .”

Luke corroborated with a sad nod, but, to Padmé’s surprise, Han merely scoffed at her assertion. He gestured for them to take a seat around the game table as he mumbled, “That seems to be an ongoing issue around here.”

Once comfortable in her seat, Padmé looked at him funnily. She understood why Leia didn’t talk to her, but not disclosing about her matters to the one she supposedly shared her heart with? That was troublesome. 

“She doesn’t talk to you either?”

Sitting with no elegance, Han said, “Oh, she talks. She talks about how Luke’s getting on her nerves, or how  _ you’re  _ driving her insane, or about the latest idiotic thing that I’ve done that has her wanting to slap me across the face. But about the stuff that’s in here…” he pointed to his heart, a wave of melancholy taking over him, “I’m afraid she might  _ explode _ .”

Luke listened to them carefully, situated between Han and Padmé and paying close attention to their emotions. “Come on, It’s  _ Leia  _ that we’re talking about. That’s just who she is, who she was  _ raised  _ to be as a princess. I’m sure you must understand that, mother. You were, after all, a Queen.”

“I understand,” she paused, giving him just enough ground to believe she had agreed with him, “That a Monarch must keep their private life away from the public eye. A leader must stay above the people, unreachable, unrelatable. However, even during my reign, I still had those that I could turn to in my moments of needs. Leia shutting off even the two of you… It’s not healthy.”

Luke swallowed hard, and Han diverged his gaze back to the portal that Leia would soon be returning from. He said, “I can’t force her to talk. I can’t force her to do anything she doesn’t want to. It could… It could make things worse.”

Padmé looked at him intensely, trying to decipher whatever had he meant with that — coming to the only conclusion that it didn’t mean anything  _ good.  _ “I don’t know what to do,” she confessed, and hated herself for this. She was a politician, she was a  _ strategist,  _ she was good at finding solutions of the worst problems in the galaxy — how was it that she couldn’t help  _ her daughter _ , of all people?

“I don’t either,” Han sighed.

“She’ll come to you,” Luke interfered, with his eyes closed — and his behavior alongside his positive statement attracted both their gazes. “You just have to give her time and space, so she can come to terms with everything that has happened.”

Han didn’t like it; he had been told the same thing over Leia coping with her bloodline, and that wasn’t going that well so far — if at all. “The thing, kid, is that she doesn’t need to go through this on her own. She’s got her long lost twin brother, she’s got a mother who rose back from the grave, and me. She doesn’t ever have to be alone again, and yet it seems she keeps forgetting that.”

Swallowing hard, Luke looked down. “She’s been through a lot.  _ We all  _ have been through a lot, ever since we joined the war. I think we’re all just trying to do the best we can,  _ how  _ we can.”

Padmé abruptly turned her gaze to Luke, her eyes big. _God_ —she was doing everything wrong. Ever since arriving here, so many days ago, she had only done mistake after mistake, to the point she didn’t even think to ask if Luke was _alright_ ; if, like Leia, he was also suffering from the consequences of war. 

Better late than never, though.

She reached for his hand and looked deeply into his eyes, “Are you  _ alright _ , Luke?”

Luke resembled puzzled with her sudden question. “Yes, mother, I’m fine.”

“I mean it,” Padmé said firmly, noticing that she was succeeding in intimidating him with her stare alone. “Is everything alright?”

Luke gently bit on his tongue. He was fine, wasn’t he? He slept all right at night, he wasn’t anxious about anything, he had come to terms with his parentage. Overall he was just —  _ scared.  _ He didn’t like to think about his feelings, as he had learned that fear was a pathway to the darkside, but, sometimes, he couldn’t help but thinking about how  _ terrified  _ he actually was.

He was scared about losing his mother again. He was scared that Leia would drift away from him. Above all, he was scared of failure. Before Yoda’s death, the Master Jedi had told him  _ to pass on what he had learned.  _ By conclusion, he was supposed to teach Leia the ways of the Force, and the prospect of failing her terrified him.

He wasn’t afraid she would fall under his care — ironically enough, that was the least of his concerns. There was good in her, only good, and he knew the spark of her light was impossible to burn out. However, he feared that he wouldn’t be able to help her find herself in the Force, to show her that the Force was her ally, not her enemy. To teach her that the Force was, in its essence, life, and Leia had so much life inside of her.

Luke was afraid that he would fail her, that he would fail Master Yoda by not passing on his knowledge, that he would fail the galaxy by not teaching others that would grow to be Jedi and help bring balance and peace to the universe.

He could only let out a long breath to relieve his worries; now was not the time to talk about them. There were more important things at sake — like  _ Leia. _

“I’m fine, mother,” he offered the most reassuring smile he had to give. “I  _ promise _ .”

“You know that you can come to me if anything’s bothering you, right?” Padmé spoke seriously, “No matter how silly or important. I’m here for you, I’ll listen to you, and I’ll do everything in my power to help you.”

Luke squeezed back her hand in gratitude.

“You too, Han,” this time, her voice had become sweeter as she turned to face the other man in the room again. “I know we’re still sailing through troubled waters, but I want you to know that my offer stands to you, and you have my full support. I fought my war, I know very well the burden wars brings, so if any of you ever need an ear to listen, or a shoulder to cry on, remember that I’ll stay by your side without any judgement.”

From the way Han’s face contorted, she understood she had made him uncomfortable, that maybe he wasn’t used to being vulnerable — to people other than Leia. Padmé didn’t care; she needed them to know they weren’t  _ alone.  _ If the boys could listen to her, then,  _ maybe,  _ Leia would too.

“Of course, unless you hurt either Luke or Leia,” she teased, although held tight to her threat, “Then I’ll have no other choice than to slice your ears  _ off _ .”

His discomfort hid away behind his smirk. Padmé wouldn’t need to worry: her message had been delivered loud and clear.

Not that he had any intention of ever causing any harm to either of the twins. Unless, of course, Luke had somehow hurt Leia, or Padmé had hurt Leia — then he would make no apologies for this actions.

His smirk disappeared just in time for Leia to return, carrying a trail with four cups and a teapot; Chewbacca had stayed behind, presumably wanting them to appreciate their time alone — of course, he had learned of Padmé’s existence long before she had come here tonight, and he had been incessantly bugging Han about it, saying that Leia shouldn’t drive her away, that the bigger the better families were, that a person who had come with only intentions of love shouldn’t be pushed away, and other notions of the sort. Han had tried to explain that humans didn’t have a philosophy of life as wise as Wookies did, but it was hard to convince a Wookie of something that they didn’t want to hear.

“Gatalentan tea. A gift from a friend,” Leia said, reminiscing fondly of the odd, colored hair girl she had met in Alderaan during her adolescence, whom had become a friend for life. It had been awhile since Leia had last talked to Amilyn Holdo; maybe it would be nice to have her brought to Coruscant in the foreseen future, so Leia would have a girl to talk to that wasn’t her superior officer or a mother that had only just appeared in her life. Above all, Amilyn understood her; she had known her before Alderaan’s destruction, and not only as a Princess, like Mon Mothma did — she had known her as a friend.

Maybe, that was all that Leia needed to sort her thoughts.

The princess poured them all a cup of tea and — had Han just seen her hands slightly shaking? He wasn’t sure. Once she was done, Leia took a seat next to him, while keeping a respectful distance, and tried to break the awkward tension that her presence had brought, “So, what are you talking about?”

Padmé remained static, while Luke looked up to the ceiling and faked distraction, which caused Han to give him a dirty look. Han said, “Your  _ mother  _ here was just threatening my life.”

Astonished, Padmé was about to open her mouth to protest, but she didn’t predict the glare that Leia would aim at him. “I’m pretty sure that’s  _ not  _ what happened.”

Han pretended to be hurt for being discredited. “Whatever you say, Leia, now I understand where  _ you  _ get your feisty nature from.”

He grimaced right after his allegation. He couldn’t know for sure where Leia and Padmé’s relationship lied just of now; maybe it was for the best that he didn’t make comments of the sort.

Just like him, Padmé anticipated Leia’s reaction. What neither of them expected, however, was for Leia to look so perplexed and blurt, “I’m not feisty.”

Luke was sipping his drink when he choked on his own snort at her assertion. He made a mess as tea dribbed from the corner of his lips, and he used his hand to both clean himself and hide the smirk that couldn’t escape from his face.

Leia shot him a death glare, “Is there something you’d like to add, Luke?”

Swallowing his laugh, he said, “Not at all, Leia.”

Han puffed next to her, and it was his turn to bare with her pointed look. “What about  _ you _ , Han?”

Unlike Luke, Han didn’t even try to hide his grin. “I think you’re doing a fine job in proving our point by yourself, sweetheart.”

Incredulous, Leia blew a puff of air from between her lips. “I can concede that  _ sometimes  _ I might lose my temper—”

“ _ Sometimes _ ?” Han also emphasized, although using a different tone from hers. “Do I need to remind you that for the first three years of our acquaintance, you would  _ also  _ threaten me at least three times a week?”

Luke interfered briefly, “She still does, pay attention.”

“ _ Somebody  _ has to put you on your place,” Leia argued, “You prove to be quite half-witted from time to time.”

“And somehow I  _ still  _ managed to get on your nerves enough time for you to fall in love with me, Your Worship,” Han badgered, proving successful to irritating her by bringing his old nickname for her back, to the point that she provided his upper arm with a light smack and he feigned being hurt.

Their bickering, however, ended all too fast, as Han pulled her close and Leia laid her head over his shoulder pad. In that moment, Padmé felt like an intruder — not only to the couple’s privacy, but to the trio’s friendship. For the first time, she was seeing how they really were, when her presence got pushed to second plan, and although she was thankful that they felt comfortable enough to share specks of their true selves in front of her, a bigger part of her was uncomfortable with the notion that she was invading their kinship.

Because, after all, she didn’t  _ fit in.  _ She was trying to, she  _ hoped  _ one day she would, but in the end, she lacked the major factor that was the base of their relationship: she hadn’t participated in the war to the point that the war took  _ everything  _ from her, so she wouldn’t have anything but  _ them _ .

Sure, she had lost everything dear to her one day, but that was no longer true. She had found the twins; somehow, everything that she had lost made their way back to her.

Padmé judged it would be polite to look away as Han and Leia showed signs of their affection, but when she faced Luke, she noticed that he was smiling like a fool to the couple. Without being able to stop herself, she became a little sad over the notion that she had  _ never  _ been allowed to publicly express her love for Anakin. She hadn’t realized how much she had longed for it until she saw Leia peacefully rest in Han’s arms, without nothing to hide. Looking back, she didn’t think she would have been able to conceal their relationship for many years to come,  _ especially  _ when they would be raising twins — twins! — together. She laughed to herself— _ oh,  _ to be young and in love and ready to defy everything that came in the way of love. In a way, she missed that.

She was brought back from her maze of thoughts when Luke lightly nudged her, “Don’t be surprised, Leia wants to kill Han  _ all  _ the time. Well, now not so often, but when they first met each other?  _ Phew.  _ I’m sure the only way Leia could fall asleep at night was by plotting how she would slaughter Han in the next morning.”

Han looked smug from his analysis, while Leia looked embarrassed. He bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, which only made her blush more intensely. Still, she smiled.

Padmé concluded that it was safe to smile at them — and, luckily, Leia didn’t seem to be bothered by it. Padmé ventured, “Didn’t Leia ever want to kill  _ you _ , Luke?”

Luke shot his shoulders up and down. “No, I’m an angel.”

With that, Leia faked choking on her laugh. “As if.”

He clasped both his hands over the table. “You were always too busy threatening to hurt Han to pay any attention to me.”

Leia raised one of her eyebrows at him, “You think I’m incapable of planning to hurt the both of you separately?! Please, Luke, I was in the Imperial  _ Senate.  _ I can plot how to end an entire room of senators and still get away with it.”

Padmé laughed freely at her comparison — that much was true, she had also shared the sentiment many many times while working as a politician. She felt a little warmer when Leia joined her in her laugh.

In the end, Luke was laughing too. “I hardly think I used to get under your skin with the same intensity as other members of the Imperial Senate.”

“No, because unlike them, you actually  _ used  _ your brain,” Leia bluntly said. “And Han—well, Han did use his brain, he just refused to listen to it most of the times.”

Han looked down at her in awe. “Past tense?”

Leia merely shook her head in reprimand. “Shut up.”

Leaning back on the worn cushions of the seat, Luke crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, then. I dare you to tell me  _ one  _ thing that I did that made you want to stab me with a lightsaber.”

She looked daring, her eyes burning with the desiring of shooting him with flames. “You don’t want to be remembered.”

He frowned, and his voice drew a higher pitched intonation, “Why not?!”

Her eyes quickly took a detour to Padmé, before returning to him, and her action only made Padmé’s interest spike. Padmé remained silent, though, and so did Leia.

“Come on, Leia,” Luke insisted, “Don’t you want Padmé to have something to mock me for?”

“Yes, but it’s embarrassing,” she emphasized, “It’s  _ humiliating _ .”

“She’s exaggerating, mother,” Luke turned back to Padmé, waving his hand, “Like I said, I’m an  _ angel _ .”

“Oh yeah?” Leia provoked — and suddenly she seemed completely forgotten of her refusal to humiliate him in front of Padmé. Luckily for her, Padmé resembled far too curious on whatever tale she had to tell. Leia detached herself from Han’s grasp and launched herself forward, “Well then, Luke. I hate to be the one to bring back these memories, but you spent the majority of the first three years of our acquaintance  _ pining  _ for me.”

Leia couldn’t decide what was funnier — Luke suddenly blushing or Padmé’s eyes enlarging. The princess had to hide away her grin behind fingers, and she was sure that Han behind her had about the world’s largest smirk on his face.

In pure despair, Luke could do little more than shout, “Leia!”

“I’m just saying,” with every intention of inciting him, she showed him the flesh of her inner lip, “You would chase me all around like a strained puppy, you’d spent all day long breathing on my neck, nearly drooling all over me, praying,  _ just praying  _ that I would willing take the heart that you were ready to give me.”

Padmé simply shook her head sideways in pure horror, with both her hands pressed against her face. “ _ Noooooo…!” _

“I’m afraid it’s the plain truth, Padmé,” Leia spoke earnestly, but a malefic laugh came soon after. “Luke,  _ my twin brother _ , was head over heels for me. And he was so subtle about it that about everyone who worked closely to me knew it.”

“ _ In my defense,  _ mother,” Luke tried to interfere, his cheeks as red as the suns sinking low over Tatooine, “ _ She  _ kissed me. Not the other way around —  _ she  _ kissed  _ me.  _ In fact, I’m convinced it was her first kiss!”

“That is simply not true,” Leia gasped, “Don’t project yourself over me. I had my first kiss when I was  _ sixteen _ .”

With her hands still covering her eyes, Padmé parted two of her fingers just so she could peek at Leia, whose cheeks remained pale as always and the only difference from her usual grace was the mischievous beam in the corner of her lips. Braving herself, Padmé said, “You didn’t deny the kiss.”

“Oh, that much happened,” Leia merely dismissed it with a gesture, “Not because I had any feelings for him, but because Han, who was  _ also  _ pining for me, was getting on my nerves and I needed to shut him up.”

Smugly, Han extended his arm to the back of her neck and started massaging her there. “Look how well that turned out.”

A little bit dramatically, Padmé slammed her feet into the ground incessantly. She had never expected such a revelation to be made, but — honestly, she was biting down on her lip not to burst into laughter. Putting two horny teenagers together in the same room… that was ought to happen eventually. “I can’t believe you!”

At last, Luke was starting to loosen up, although he remained defensive, which was the cue for Leia to carry on pestering him, “It wasn’t anything  _ that  _ deep. Luke just gets emotional because it was  _ his  _ first kiss.”

“ _ No it wasn’t, _ ” Luke was never so quick to shout back. “Leia!”

Padmé finally managed to lower her hands, and it was revealed the tears spreading down her cheeks as she no longer could contempt her laughter — that scene was a bliss to Leia, but it only made Luke more embarrassed, if that was even possible. Still, she couldn’t help but denounce, “You two are supposed to be one of the strongest people in the Force in the entire  _ galaxy… _ ! I can’t believe you would be this…”

“Dumb?” Han completed for her. “Yeah, you see what I have to go through every day?!”

Padmé tilted her head, “I was going for imperceptive, but I guess  _ dumb  _ suits just as well.”

“You shouldn’t encourage him, mother,” Luke warned her, rubbing his palms against his cheeks hoping to get rid of its blush — only for the physical contact to paint him in red again — which Luke failed to realize he was only corroborating Han’s thesis. “He gets  _ insufferable  _ if he’s ever told he’s right.”

A little defensive, Leia reached for his thigh under the table, although she didn’t discredit Luke — she would  _ never,  _ after all, she witnessed Han’s unbearableness beforehand. “ _ Well _ , I don’t know about Luke, but the moment I kissed him… I felt odd. Like something was off. I can’t explain it with words, I just knew it wasn’t right.”

“I agree,” Luke replied, “I can also guarantee that the moment that we kissed, I no longer, hm, had a…  _ crush…  _ on Leia.”

He was so awkward saying that word that the three of them chuckled at him. Padmé said, “Honestly, I’m just relieved it didn’t develop into anything  _ further  _ than that. I know very well what it’s like to be 20 and in love. Even if it feels wrong, you might just delve into it trying to prove that it’s  _ right _ .”

Leaning back, Leia found Han’s half embrace once more. “Nothing would have happened.”

Luke raised an eyebrow at her, “You seem awfully certain about that.”

“Because I am,” she said, looking directly into his eyes. Leia sighed, “After Alderaan, part of me died. I couldn’t feel anything, I was numb all the time, barely alive. In fact, I didn’t even realize that Luke and Han were pining for me, if it weren’t for my friend, Amilyn Holdo, who briefly came to one of our bases and pointed it out to me,” she sighed again, no longer looking at anyone at all. “After Alderaan, nothing made sense.”

Han tightened his arm around her, hoping his gesture as well as his remark would ease her pain — even if only momentarily. “I wasn’t pining for you.”

Leia snorted loudly, “As if.”

Listening to her daughter, Padmé swallowed roughly. She hadn’t been around for long, but she already knew that the destruction of Alderaan was a sore subject, one that Leia didn’t often bring up. And hearing her talk so freely about her pain to her  _ family  _ stole a part of Padmé’s soul.

Luke eyed her with a hurting expression; he could feel her pain in the Force, and there was nothing he wished more than to free her of it. He couldn’t; he could barely be there for her. “Are you alive  _ now _ , Leia?”

Leia smiled sadly; she could read the question behind his question. He wanted to know if she still blamed herself, if she still carried the weight of her world over her shoulders — and the truth that she would never tell him was that she always  _ would _ .

“Yes, Luke,” she promised him, “I’m alive again.”

That much, at least, was true. Standing there, next to Han, she  _ thought  _ she was.

“You’re very brave, Leia,” Padmé said, unsure if those were the right things to say, but knowing she had to say  _ something.  _ Leia, in return, merely clicked her tongue, as if to dismiss her allegation as irrelevant. With a tight heart, Padmé watched as Han bent down to whisper something in her ear — probably to validate Padmé’s words — but the lack of shift in Leia’s expression proved it to have little effect. 

Tiredly, Han leaned back on his seat, although still holding her close, and gave Padmé an equally exhausted gaze — one that Padmé couldn’t quite unravel. A deep, uncomfortable silence followed them, one that seemed too rigid to be broken, and Padmé only did so when she could no longer bear it.

“I think we have extended our invitation, Luke.”

It was late into the night, and nobody bothered to correct her. Not even the hosts of that little party, as normal social demands would order them too. Luke agreed with a nod, and after a quick stretch, he hopped to his feet, and said his good night.

Padmé followed his lead, thanking Leia both for dinner and for the tea, which was politely met with a closed smile. As she turned to leave, Padmé saw Leia closing her eyes and snuggling closer to Han, believing she was no under the pressure of the public eye, and, out of respect, Padmé immediately looked away.

Han pulled her so near that she was almost on his lap. He waited until the sound of Luke and Padmé’s steps had completely faded in the distance to say, “I’m glad that dinner went alright.”

Leia ironically snorted, “Oh, no. Dinner was a mess.”

Han frowned — from their little interactions just now, he wouldn’t have depicted things to have gone that badly.

“Lots of things were said,” Leia confessed in a small voice. “From all of us. But I guess we all needed to hear them.  _ I  _ needed to hear them.”

Han nodded, understanding. “Are you alright now?”

“Yes. I think I am,” she said, meaning it. She could hear a deeper layer of his anguish behind his voice that wasn’t there before, so she dared to ask, “Were you talking about me while I was making tea?”

He sighed evidently. He wouldn’t lie to her; he knew that no good could come out of it. “Yes.”

For the first time, Leia shifted from the comfort of his embrace to lay her chin over his shoulder blaze, having the perfect view of his black eyes staring back at her. Then, she genuinely asked, “Why?”

“ _ Why _ ?” sometimes, he couldn’t understand how someone so smart could be so oblivious when it came to herself. “Because we’re all worried about you, Leia.”

“Oh,” she legitimately seemed taken aback by his statement, and the burden of looking into worried eyes made her return to her previous stance. Once again, she closed her eyes, focusing on the smell of him. “I’m tired, Han.”

Han consented, stiffening his muscles, ready to stand up. “Let’s go to bed.”

“No,” she held him back before he even had the chance to move, not needing to look at his face to know about the frown that was there. She breathed out loudly, “If we go to bed, I’ll have to undress, and undo my hair, and brush my teeth.”

Sometimes, he swore he couldn’t understand  _ her.  _ “And what’s so wrong with that?”

Delicately, Leia wrapped her fingers around the fabric of his shirt. “I just want to stay here, in your embrace. For now.”

With a tight feeling coming from his heart, he folded his other arm around her as well, and the curve of his neck fit her head perfectly.

“I’m here, Leia. I’m here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was actually astonished with the amount of people who found their way to the comment section to leave something in their mother language! well, don't stop, because you've made me the happiest hehe :)


	15. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some people have asked me whether I'm going to keep updating this story because they have become attached to the story (lol), so I'm just here to say that I have no intention of abandoning this story! so far, I'm trying to update regularly once a week, but my university is coming back in august (after eight months of break rip) and I'm a little unsure of how fast I'll be able to continue to write this. however, I rest assured that this story will not be abandoned until it is completed, and I thank everyone who has been so kind and patient with me!

Days soon turned into weeks, and Padmé was starting to get used to her new — old — life as Padmé Amidala.

Mon Mothma had offered her position in the Alliance intelligence unit, apologizing that she couldn’t invite her to the High Council as none of the other members knew  _ or  _ trusted her enough, although that was where Padmé belonged — after all, the delegation of the 2000, a commission of worried senators about Palpatine’s seizure of power back in the Republic, had been organized by Padmé herself, alongside Mothma and Bail Organa.

Padmé, however, was thankful for it. Being on the intelligence task force gave enough to do, so she wouldn’t spend her days idly waiting for whenever Luke — or Leia — had any free time, but she also wouldn’t have to overwork herself or carry the burden of however the New Republic turned out to be. She had fought her war and she had lost, and although she admired the strength of her peers for carrying on the fight, she had more important things to deal with than to lead a Rebellion that was already in the hands of capable people — such as her own daughter 

Further, it had been a long time since she had last worked as a Senator; she wasn’t on her brightest days anymore, it would take awhile for her to fully get back on her game. Not to mention that Leia was an important member of the High Council, and she would  _ hate  _ to spend her days bickering with the young princess on what to do next. No; they already bickered enough outside of a tactic room.

Her relationship with Leia was —  _ something.  _ She couldn’t quite describe, and, on most days, she couldn’t even tell whether they were heading somewhere. Padmé was doing her best, and she also believed Leia was giving all that she was ready to give; however, there was still a long way before they could equally give and receive.

Meanwhile, her relationship with Luke only flourished as time went by. The more time she spent with him, the more convinced she was that he was the epitome of a perfect man. Before, she didn’t know that person was even possible of existing, but seeing him with his good heart, and his will, and his kindness — she was so proud of whom he had become.

She was proud of Leia too, of course, but in the point where they were, she still didn’t know much of her daughter. Leia was the most reticent person she had ever met — and, coming from the former Queen who had disguised herself as a handmaiden so people wouldn’t know her true identity, that meant  _ something _ . The more Padmé tried to unravel her, the deeper Leia delved into her cocoon, and the mother was running out of ideas on how to bond with her.

There were a few topics Padmé concluded that were safe to talk about; most of which resolved around  _ politics.  _ Luke usually dozed off during those conversations, although he tried his best to keep up with them. Especially when the two politicians got involved in a heated empirical discussion —  _ then  _ he’d rather pay attention to a mosquito flying nearby than to try to side with either of them. However, even Luke had his interest peaked when Padmé decided to tell them about her work as the elected monarch of Naboo, and how she managed to overthrown the Trade Federation during the Invasion of Naboo at the mere age of fourteen.

Leia seemed impressed at that doing — and she wasn’t the one to get easily impressed with things. Either that or she was tremendously good in hiding it.

Now, Padmé only needed to find other safe topics to talk about that didn’t require them to nearly rip each other’s head off. And that wasn’t an easy task, as Leia rarely ever initiated a conversation on her own,  _ especially  _ one that concerned matters of her own heart.

Padmé couldn’t explain it, but the more time she spent here, the more she convinced herself that something was…  _ wrong.  _ She had no idea what, neither did she have any clue on how to figure out, but every little sign made her surer that something had  _ happened,  _ and nobody seemed to acknowledge it.

She hadn’t asked Leia; no, she would rather spare the inevitable response of being shot down by Leia’s glare. When it came to the princess, Padmé walked on eggshells — she was so afraid of  _ messing up _ , of saying the exact wrong thing that would be the last straw, that her every action and her every sentence was overthought. She did try to ask Luke about it, who merely shot his shoulders up and down and said, “A lot happened during the war,” while adding that Leia didn’t confide in  _ anyone  _ about her issues. Padmé, however, suspected that Luke knew — or, at least, had a faint idea of what it was about — but he wouldn’t betray his sister’s trust, and Padmé respected him for it.

That didn’t ease her worries, though — on the contrary. She even tried approaching Han, giving him prying eyes under a certain occasion where Leia had said something dubious, but, like expected, Han remained back. He’d met her eyes, acknowledged them, made her believe that she was indeed right to worry, and then—he placed his hand on the small of Leia’s back in a message loud enough that his loyalty would always lie with her first. In a way, Padmé was relieved to know that her daughter was surrounded by people who would always put her first. 

Taking a deep breath, Padmé forced herself to push the matter into the back of her mind. Right now, she had something more pressing to deal with — the hologram call she was about to have with Safira and Taro Abdallah, where she would tell them everything.  _ Everything _ .

She hadn’t had any contact with them ever since she left Raada, other than a few messages to let them know that she was alright, and a few more from Safira asking for updates. Out of respect for them, and for the relationship they had formed across the years, she had scheduled this call to come clean with them. She would have to dismantle an entire life she had built with them, and she was nervous to learn the outcome.

Padmé was sitting on the floor of her small cabin, in front of the holoprojector, counting the minutes until Taro and Safira would ring. Ameera had been sent off planet in some mission, so Padmé didn’t need to worry about the Twi’lek barging in during some pivotal moment. She would be completely alone, if it weren’t for the young Skywalker sitting next to her.

Earlier in that day, when she had told Luke about her anticipation for the meeting, the son had been adamant of being there with her. He wanted to be there for moral support, to hold her hand if she wanted it to be held, and, above all, to participate in a  _ big  _ moment of her life. He had missed so much that he didn’t want to miss anything more.

Also—and he only admitted it some time later—he was eager to finally meeting Taro and Safira. Padmé snorted at him, amused at his excitement to making acquaintance with the two strangers. The more she thought of it, the more she realized that Luke tended to make a family out of everyone that came on his way — blood or not. From the stories she had heard, he had leaned on  _ Ben  _ Kenobi for guidance the moment they met; he had adopted Han and Leia as his kins the moment he found them, long before he learned of his bloodline to Leia; he had accepted and forgiven Anakin Skywalker; and, he had claimed  _ her  _ as his mother as soon as he saw her. His heart was so big and he had too much love to give that he would all but pass on the Skywalker name to anyone who came on his way.

She prayed that Taro and Safira would accept him with the same intensity that Luke was ready to call them a brother and a sister.

“There’s no need to be nervous, mother,” Luke said, breaking the peaceful silence they had been sharing for the past minutes. Serenity reigned his face and his spirit, and he hoped he could pass on some of his calm to her.

Padmé smiled sadly; she wanted to believe in him, but her heart lied on a different path. “It’s a lot to take in. My life… Everything that I am, that I ever was to them is founded on a lie. They have every right to be angry.”

“They do,” Luke agreed. “But the person you were to them hasn’t change in anything but name. Besides, you should be proud of Padmé Amidala. She’s no reason for shame.”

Padmé nodded her head vigorously — perhaps, that was everything she needed to hear. To have her son validating the person she chose to be, not the person she had been forced to become. After all, she had come to him and Leia as the strong girl she once had been; that should be worth something.

“All I want is for them to accept me as I am. I want both my words to collide so I can at last stop leading a double life,” she turned to look at him with soft eyes, “Is that too much to ask for?”

“Not at all,” he gave her an assuring smile. “If they truly love you, mother, it won’t matter. And from the stories I’ve heard from you, I have no reason to believe that they  _ don’t _ .”

“Sometimes, loving someone only makes it worse,” she said regrettably. “If I hadn’t loved Anakin, it wouldn’t have hurt so much to see him fall.”

His smile instantly dropped, and his eyes lost a fraction of the light they sparkled just a moment before. “I’m sorry, mother. I can’t fathom the pain you must have gone through.”

Padmé sighed heavily. “It was a long time ago.”

But she couldn’t deny that the pain was still there.

“Besides,” he ventured, “This hardly compares to Darth Vader. These are two people that grew up under your care, without ever seeing any seeing you act in malice. Things will go smoothly, I promise.”

Just as he said it, the commlink rang. Once again, as Luke dragged himself to the side so he wouldn’t be caught on the hologram range, Padmé took a deep breath, briefly saying before accepting the call. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

The hologram of the siblings soon took over the room, and Padmé couldn’t help but to broaden her smile at the sight of them. She had been so busy dealing with Luke and Leia that hadn’t realized how much she missed  _ them.  _ Suddenly, there was an ache in her heart for not having them by her side, as they had been for the past two decades, and she felt bad for sidelining them from her life. Truly, she couldn’t wait to bring them to Coruscant and see them again.

“Pazzy!” Safira all but screamed in her excitement, barely able to restrain her smile. Next to her sat Taro, who looked equally happy to see her —  _ even  _ if he had tried to hard to pretend her departure wouldn’t affect him. “Oh my stars, it’s been a lifetime!”

Padmé laughed freely at her comment, and even more so when Taro rolled his eyes at it. “It’s barely been three weeks, Safira.”

Safira puffed, making a face. “ _ Well.  _ That’s the longest I’ve been away from you in my entire life!”

The retired senator gently bit down on her lip, a wave of guilt washing over her.  _ She should have brought them along,  _ she should have had them move on from Raada as she did — although, if she pressed the thought, she couldn’t imagine it would be a good idea. Luke would probably be jealous that him and his sister had been somehow replaced, and Leia would argue that Padmé already had  _ them,  _ so there was no need for Leia to enter her life as well. Neither of those assumptions bared any resemblance to reality, of course, as Leia and Luke were the only children Padmé had ever had, and she would never state otherwise.

After all, Taro and Safira too had had a mother and a father until they were of age. Padmé hadn’t raised them, merely looked after them when they needed her.

“Have you guys set the ranch on fire ever since I left?”

Taro looked at Safira with the corner of his eyes, and she shoved him without any class. He said, “ _ Well.  _ Safira did once forget she was boiling milk and I found the kitchen with a burned kettle and milk spilled all over the ground. It wasn’t quite pleasant to clean it up.”

Padmé’s eyes widened, but Safira spoke ahead of her, “That wouldn’t have happened if he helped with the house chores! Have you  _ seen  _ his room, Paz? I don’t think it has seen a broom ever since you went away, and I’m not going to clean up after his mess.”

“Good thing it’s  _ my  _ room, and you know mum forbid you of ever entering my room and disturbing me.”

“When I was  _ seven _ ! You can’t seriously expect me never to come into your room.”

“It would have been a dream come true.”

Padmé simply watched them tear each other’s head off with a delighted grin. It was nice to see them fighting again, as that seemed to be the most natural and universal aspect between siblings. The Force knew how much she missed the constant quarrels she used to have with her sister, Sola.

Not really knowing why, she briefly turned her attention to Luke, who also watched the hologram figures with amusement. However, what caught her attention the most was the unknown emotion covered on his face that she hadn’t seen before.

_ Longing.  _ Padmé realized with an uptight sentiment that he  _ longed  _ for the kind of relationship they had, which took her awhile to understand its origin — but when she did, it struck her like a lightning. 

Luke longed to have grown up with Leia. To have a sister with whom he could bicker about the most mundane things without any culpability that he was wasting precious time than with things that mattered more — such as a war that relied on them to be won. And Padmé had watched them; they had a very different kind of bantering than Safira and Taro, than herself and Sola. Their relationship involved way more teasing, and merciless mockery, and heated arguments about their morals, than an innocent and illogical bickering and annoyance that two beings growing up together would share for one another.

He wanted that with Leia, Padmé could see in his eyes, and he would never have it.

Once she noticed she was staring, she returned her gaze to the siblings in front of her. She was caught back with them staring right back at her, and the words got stuck in her throat.

“Is everything alright, Paz?” Safira wondered, “You seem a little… distracted.”

Padmé swallowed hard —  _ that  _ she was. She had far more happening inside her head than she could bring to her lips, and she took the cue to be honest with them. “ _ So much  _ has happened ever since I saw the last of you.”

Hesitantly, Safira nodded. “When you left, you said you needed to be certain of something before you could talk to us about  _ why  _ you left, so, I was wondering…”

Taro provided the words that his sister didn’t have the courage to say, “Have you found it? Can you talk to us now?”

Padmé momentarily froze, and a gentle, male hand squeezed her thigh, holding her tight to reality before she had the chance to slip away. Unconsciously, she found her hand on his, and braced herself to say, “Safira, Taro… I would like to tell you a story.”

“A story?” Safira tilted her head, puzzled. Next to her, Taro shared her same confusion. 

“A story,” Padmé repeated, shaking her head up and down zealously. “A story about a politician, who was so determined to save her people that she failed to save herself. A story about a Jedi, who should not know anger, nor hatred, nor love. And I would like you to listen.”

The siblings exchanged a quick look, and then returned their attention to her, waiting in silence.

“This is the story about a young queen and a young pilot who fell in love against all odds. A young senator and a young Jedi who fell in love although they weren’t allowed to, and their love became their doom.”

Luke set his back straight next to her, no longer looking at the strange humans, but at her. His eyes were startled, and his muscles became rigid. He, more than anybody, wanted to hear that story. He was _begging_ for that story ever since Padmé came into his life, and the only reason he hadn’t directly asked for it was out of respect for Leia.

If he could only hear the story at the sake of others, then so be it. All he wanted was a glimpse into his history that no one else could tell.

Padmé knew it as well, because she looked straight at him as she began to tell it, all but forgotten about Taro and Safira. The story belonged to him just as it belonged to her.

“They met when they were children, but life separated them and they only met again too many years later, having missed each other’s youth completely. She was a senator with a life threat over her head, he was the Jedi assigned to protect her with his life. They both had and knew of their duties, but little does duty matter when you don’t have love to make it steady.

“They fell in love, although the Jedi code forbid the Jedi of finding love, because loving someone meant becoming attached to someone, and that led to the fear of losing them, and losing someone they loved was a path to anger and hatred, which prompted the way to the Dark side. A Jedi must not know of love, or fear, or hatred, or anger, or they will fail the life they chose for themselves. But life has little meaning if you don’t have  _ love _ . 

“As many young people, they chose to defy all odds against them — all in the name of love. They got married in secret, and nobody was aware of their love for each other. As the steps in the life of a couple dictates, she got pregnant with his child a couple of years after their matrimony, and, at last, everything seemed to make sense.”

Luke’s vision became cloudy as he listened to her, his heart pounding against his throat. He knew that Padmé’s hand still grasped to his, because he could feel its warmth on his skin, but he no longer had the strength to hold back.

Padmé continued, “However, as it often happens during war, nothing is ever as it seems. She grew life inside her womb, and he dreamed of having that life taken from them — from  _ him.  _ He loved her and his child, therefore he was terrified of losing them. His fears haunted him, and he knew he should do everything in his power to save them. And a powerful Jedi he was.

“In his fear, he became obsessed with his quest to save them. He no longer cared for the consequences of his actions, as his rage slowly consumed him. A rage acquired from countless dreams of failing to save them. Under the illusion that he would be able to save his wife and child, he fell to the dark — and the moment he did, there was no longer any salvation to any of them.

“Darkness became him, and in his fear of  _ life  _ killing his wife and child, he killed them himself. He became what he feared the most, and he didn’t realize it until it was too late. Darkness consumed him, and it killed the man that he was. All his efforts had been in vain, and it only brought pain and destruction to everyone and everything around him. Their love became their own doom.”

Only when a long silence prevailed that they realized her story was finished. Luke’s gaze had fallen to his lap, and he resembled uncomfortable. Perhaps, Padmé’s story had taken so much more from him than he was ready to give. However, she could not dwell on that that precise moment, as she had another set of humans looking equally confused.

Safira dared, once the silence became too loud, “I don’t understand, Paz. Why are you telling us that story?”

Although Taro remained silent, his eyes asked her the same question.

“Because,” she breathed in, and breathed in, and breathed in, “I am that Queen. I am the lover that the Jedi killed.”

If they hadn’t been separated by an hologram, Padmé would have seen the color draining from both their faces, but their faint expression gave her a good idea of what was going through their mind. She chose to remain silent, giving them the time to process what they had been told.

Except—they couldn’t, as the first thing that Safira said was, “What…?”

And it gave Taro the cue to add, “That doesn’t make sense, Paz. You said the Queen died, and—and you’re not dead.”

“You’re right, Taro,” Padmé nodded, “But I had to make everyone believe I was dead. I needed  _ him  _ to believe I was dead. It became too dangerous for me to live, so I had to other choice but to become someone else. To become the woman you know, and love.”

Her last word hauled from her throat; like she wanted to remind them of that. Almost like, subconsciously, she feared that they would forget that. 

“Paz, I…” Safira was clearly out of words. “I don’t understand.”

“I will start again, then,” Padmé said, as firmly as she could be, “My name is Padmé Naberrie. I was the elected Monarch of Naboo, a Middle Rim world, and worked as their representative senator in the Galactic Senate afterwards. I fell in love with a Jedi, with whom I secretly married and carried his child in my womb. However, he became consumed with his rage and tried to kill me, while I was pregnant. The only way I could protect myself from his reach was by convincing him that I, alongside his child, had died under his vile acts, so I escaped. I fled to Raada and became Paz Naminé, the woman that you know me for.”

Taro raised his hand to his head and scratched his eyes, tiredly. The conversation with her that was supposed to come to him as a relief had somehow became a source of stress, and his brain was struggling to process everything. “So, you lied to us. All of our lives, you’ve only been a lie.”

“I lied about my name and my past, because I  _ had  _ to,” she said, “But I never lied about who I was to you. Who I  _ am.  _ Sometimes, the only choices you have are bad ones, but you still have to choose.”

Safira sniffed, and her voice started to crack. “You couldn’t tell us? Not even us? We’re— _ we were _ —your family. Family is supposed to trust on one another. We love you, we wouldn’t have ratted you out to the Empire, Paz…  _ Padma _ …?”

“Padmé,” she corrected, and was momentarily relieved that Safira hadn’t used the past tense to describe their love for her. Maybe, Luke was right — so long as they had their love, everything would turn out alright.

A twitch struck her in the chest — if love were enough, why couldn’t it have been for her and Anakin?

Forcing the thought away, she carried on, “Telling you of my identity meant putting  _ you  _ in danger as well. I could never do that to you. I could never willingly risk your lives for a cause you never asked to join.”

Her promise seemed to smooth their reactions, although tension still remained sharp in the air. 

Taro was the one to try and cut it a little after, although the accusatory tone behind his voice didn’t avail the situation, “Did you abandon your child? In order to  _ protect  _ them, did you abandon your child, Paz?”

Padmé wondered if he had used her past name to spite her, but little did it matter. She was far more concerned with how to answer his question, because — yes, she had abandoned her children, except — no, she hadn’t abandoned her children. It was all  _ so _ messed up.

Once again, she felt a tight grasp impeding her from slipping away. She looked at Luke’s sad eyes and he gave her the answer.

Perhaps, tomorrow, she would come back to second doubting it. For that day, though, it alleviated her enough.

“I was told that my child had died during childbirth,” she confessed with a low voice. “I could never abandon my child, especially when the place they would be safe the most was in my arms.”

Safira merely nodded, not too moved by the story. She grew up under the pretense that Paz’s child had died in the Clone Wars, so little difference it made now. She remained baffled with one thing only, “Why did you leave, Pazzy? I meant Paz— _ Padmé,  _ damn it.”

“It’s alright to still call me Paz,” Padmé reassured with a soft smile. “One day, I would like you to call me by Padmé, my real name, but I’ve been Paz to you your entire life. If that’s how you’re comfortable calling me as of now, then so be it.”

Safira felt her cheeks on fire. “No—I’m sorry. I’m just… glitching right now. I don’t want to offend you, or disrespect you. Padmé is the name that you carry, and I will call you as such.”

“I appreciate it, Safira,” she replied sincerely, her hand over her chest to express her gratitude. However, it fell down too soon. “As I said before leaving, I had to go because something from my past had found me, and I needed to find it. Well, I learned that the child I assumed dead, in reality, lived, and I needed to come to him.”

Taro and Safira’s face all but fell, their eyes becoming startled and their pupils dilated. They spoke in unison, “You have a son?!”

Unexpectedly — and surprising even Padmé — Luke dipped his head into the hologram range, bending half of his body in the process so that his head barely reached the height of Padmé’s shoulders behind him. He had the most excited smile stamped across his face and waved his hand like a child.

“Hi!”

Padmé wanted to laugh at him; it seemed that whatever had been previously bothering him had faded away. For now, at least. With an expression full of pride, she said, “I have twins, actually, and  _ this _ ,” she pointed at Luke like he was crazy, “Is half of them. Safira, Taro, I would like you to meet Luke Skywalker.”

Luke barely gave them the time to process before he started speaking, “Hello! I am  _ so  _ happy to finally meet you. I have heard  _ so many  _ good things about you, Taro and Safira, and I thank you for taking such good care of Padmé during my absence.”

The way the siblings stared at him was nearly comical. Padmé would have laughed about it, if she didn’t have so much to make amends with them before they got their old relationship back — also, she was slightly busy rolling her eyes at Luke and his last comment.

“You had  _ twins _ ?”

“Luke Skywalker is your  _ son _ ?”

“Who’s Luke Skywalker?”

“How can you be so  _ daft,  _ Taro? Luke Skywalker!”

“Repeating his name when I have no idea who he is won’t change a thing!”

“Ugh, I can’t believe you sometimes!  _ Luke Skywalker,  _ the guy who blew up both the Death Stars!”

“Wasn’t that a team effort?”

“Watch your mouth, you idiot! He’s literally in front of you!”

Luke cleared his throat, as if to reclaim their attention. He no longer had his spine bent forward, but sat side by side with Padmé, holding hands with her. “Taro is right. It  _ was  _ a team effort. I couldn’t have done it alone. I am simply the lucky guy they decided to turn into their public face for moral building.”

Padmé pursued her lips, “Of  _ course  _ it isn’t that simple. Luke’s a hero, he’s just too shy to admit it.”

Like to prove her right, Luke immediately blushed. Padmé choked her laugh back. 

“Paz, I can’t believe it,” Safira genuinely said, so absorbed she didn’t even noticed she had accidentally miscalled Padmé. “You must be  _ so  _ proud to have him as your son!”

She smiled proudly to confirm it. “I would have been proud of whomever my child turned to be, but… yeah. Luke makes me so proud.”

She crumpled his hair gently, teasing him, and he laughed freely at her.

Safira leaned on her elbows, suddenly interested on the both of them — she completely ignored the grumpy brother next to her. “Did you know about her, Luke?”

“I was told my mother was dead, ever since I was born,” Luke said regrettably, wrapping his arm around Padmé’s waist to pull her close. Unconsciously verifying she hadn’t been a  _ lie.  _ “The galaxy’s worst miscommunication accident that separated us at birth, but I’ve got her back now, and that’s all that matters.”

Safira smiled, a sudden warmth waving over her heart. All her life, she had heard Padmé speaking of the pain the loss of her husband and child brought her, and to see Padmé so happy to have been accepted by the child she had lost… Safira no longer cared for her deception at the whole situation. “It mustn’t have been easy, you know, having a woman appear out of the blue telling she’s your mother and wishing to make amends for her absence…  _ I  _ wouldn’t have handled it well. Sorry, I’m rambling — I’m just happy that Pa— _ Padmé  _ has found her family again.”

“You’re my family too, Safira,” Padmé spoke sternly, “You and Taro. Nothing will ever erase that.”

Safira was about to say something when Taro interrupted, a heavy halo around him that Luke suddenly felt uncomfortable with. “You’ve said Luke is your family. You’ve said Safira and I are your family. But you’ve never said your other  _ child  _ is your family, too. In fact, you haven’t spoken of them  _ at all _ .”

Padmé’s face instantaneously dropped, and so did Luke’s posture. They didn’t plan to break all their physical contact, but it felt wrong to keep it up. In that moment, the worst case scenarios went through Safira’s head, and she wanted to kill her brother for being, again, so stupid. Taro, however, remained unfazed.

“It’s…  _ complicated, _ ” Padmé blurted out, and it was the best word she could find to properly describe her relationship with Leia. The only word.

“But they’re not  _ dead _ , are they?” Safira asked in despair. “Because so long as they’re not dead, anything can be fixed.”

Padmé chuckled softly at her remark, envying her naiveté. If it only were that simple. “She’s very much alive, and I’m very proud of her, too.”

Taro slightly relaxed, sensing the veracity in Padmé’s words. “What’s wrong with her?”

With narrow eyes, Padmé tilted her head to reprimand him. “ _ Nothing  _ is wrong with her, Taro. She’s under no obligation to accept a mother who abandoned her.”

Taro simply shook his head. “If my mother ever came back to me, I would welcome her with open arms.”

“It’s different, Taro, because your mother was taken from you,” Padmé reasoned.

“Well, weren’t you too?” he prompted. “You’ve said you didn’t know they were alive. The only way for you to believe they were dead is if they were taken from you.”

“That’s right, Taro,” she gave him a firm nod, “Unfortunately, that doesn’t change anything. She loves her adoptive parents very much, I can’t ask her to simply forget them. I can’t demand she replaces them for me, just because we’re blood, when they weren’t.”

Like a spoiled child, Taro leaned back and crossed his arms. “Her parents should rot in the darkest Imperial prison for robbing a baby from their mother’s embrace.”

Luke grimaced as soon as he heard those words, and he was relieved Leia wasn’t there to hear it too. It… It wouldn’t end up well. Safira gave him a strong punch in the leg, as if to remind him that the girl’s parents were also Luke’s parents — somehow, Luke’s sudden change of expression only corroborated that. Regardless, Taro remained unapologetic.

“You know better than to make comments of things you don’t truly understand, Taro,” Padmé lectured him with her calm, but steady voice. “ _ I  _ have taught you better than that. I know that you’re only saying it out of concern for me, but there are consequences to your actions. Did you even consider that you might hurt Luke with your allegation? That you were diminishing the parents that raised Luke as well? Parents that he loves?”

Taro appeared to become angry with the scolding, and said nothing more, instead choosing to look away.

“They weren’t my parents, by the way,” Luke clarified, unsure of what for. “Leia and I were also separated at birth. We’ve only just found our way to each other.”

“Leia?” Safira at last dared to say something again, after her brother’s outburst. “Is that her name?”

“Yes,” Padmé leaned slightly forward, trying not to stutter, “Leia Organa. You, hm, might have heard of her.”

Out of the blue, Taro began to snap his fingers, as if trying to remember something  _ important  _ that he had forgotten. His brows fused together and his reaction was starting to creep out Safira. “ _ Yes.  _ Yes! I’ve heard that name before.”

“Are you  _ kidding  _ me right now,” Safira stared at him with fiery eyes. “You don’t remember who  _ Luke Skywalker  _ is but you know all about an irrelevant name?! All because you had a crush on a pretty face?!”

“No, no, Safira, that’s what I’m trying to say,” for the first time that night, he seemed to be calm. Everything that had been revealed was in their past already. “She’s not  _ irrelevant.  _ Padmé, help me out here.”

Padmé nearly choked on how he so quickly changed from his anger at her true identity to so swiftly calling her by her real name. Briefly, she eyed Luke, who looked equally confused, before returning her attention to them. “Princess Leia Organa, from Alde—”

Taro happily clapped his hands, the relief of realization taking over his face. “Yes! I know who she is!”

Safira simply stared at him with wide eyes. “Well? Don’t leave me on suspense, Taro.”

“Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan, you know, the planet that got blown up,” Taro clarified. “She’s one of the few Alderaanians who survived the destruction. I know it because it happened during my time in the Imperial Academy. There was a bounty over her head, a  _ big  _ bounty — Darth Vader and the Emperor wanted her, alongside every other Alderaanian who lived, dead.  _ Especially  _ her, as it was well known that she became an active member of the rebellion after the catastrophe. That they had made a martyr of her. I know it because every other cadet used to talk about how pretty she was, and what they would do to her before handing her to Vader for the credits.”

Padmé felt the taste of bile in her mouth — she became sick to her stomach, and she had to press her hand to her mouth to keep herself together. Next to her, Luke not only looked repugnant, but also infuriated. In that precise moment, a sense of protectiveness came over him and he could easily harm anyone who had ever said an ill word about his sister.

He forced himself to breathe, to ease his tightened jaw and to unfasten his fists. Luke couldn’t allow himself to ever feel like that. 

Upon realizing the damage his notion had just brought them, Taro began to falter, “I… I never said anything like that, Paz. I would  _ never  _ hurt her like that. Or anyone, for what matter. I have a sister, and—and that simple suggestion makes me sick. I’ve always felt bad for the treatment Princess Leia received, but I was barely a cadet. I couldn’t do anything.”

Although she believed him, Padmé couldn’t bring herself to look at him again. Instead, her heart pounded heavy in her chest as she focused her eyes nowhere at all. Now, she understood exactly how her family, and even Anakin, felt whenever she had someone threatening her life. Like her, she believed Leia had paid little attention to those threats, except — in the war, Leia had lost all the people dear to her that would unconditionally worry about her getting herself killed. Padmé felt an urge to rush to Leia just to see that she was  _ alright,  _ that she was still breathing, and she had no idea how to relieve herself from that drive.

For a brief moment, she envied Luke, who sat next to her with his eyes closed, searching in the Force for  _ her,  _ and breathing out profoundly in relief once he was certified of Leia’s presence there.

Since the only answer he received was an uncomfortable silence, Taro tried again, “I’m  _ sorry,  _ Padmé.”

Quickly brushing the corner of her eyes with the back of her hand, Padmé composed herself once more, and noted that Safira looked equally uncomfortable next to her brother. “I know you are, Taro.”

That was all she could bring herself to say. Padmé understood it wasn’t directly Taro’s fault, but his silence contributed to that sort of behavior and oppression. She sighed, her desire to run to Leia growing stronger by the second. 

“Is she alright now?” Taro asked, his despair to redeem himself noticeably — although his concern seemed genuine. “She’s not dead, so obviously nobody ever got to turn her to Vader and the Emperor, but, still. It mustn’t have been easy. It mustn’t  _ be  _ easy, so I’m just wondering.”

“She’s fine,” Luke was quick to answer, a little bit rudely — like a guarding hound protecting those he cared for. It felt wrong to have the person who idly allowed stormtroopers to harass her behind her back suddenly show empathy towards her. “Leia is unbreakable.”

The message was clear enough.  _ She does not need your pity. _

Clearing her throat, Safira concluded it was time to shut her brother up. “Wow, Padmé. You only gave birth to important people. You must be so happy.”

“I am,” Padmé agreed, taking her lead to change the subject — perhaps, it was for the best. “Luke and Leia mean everything to me. To be loved and accepted by them… It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

Well, at least  _ one  _ of them loved and accepted her unconditionally. Her relationship with Leia was still a work in progress, but she didn’t need to get into that specifically. 

Safira smiled. “I’m  _ so  _ happy for you, Paz— _ Padmé _ ! To know that you’re not all alone out there, that you have someone to take care of you… You’ve been so good to us, all our lives, it’s about time someone is good  _ to  _ you. And, if you allow me to be bold, I can’t wait to meet Luke and Leia in person.”

Padmé grinned lightly. She liked the sound of that. “I promise I will bring the both of you to the capital as soon as it is safe. Things are a little rough as of now.”

“I’ll look forward to that.”

Their tone indicated that the conversation had reached its prominent end, except — Padmé couldn’t let them go. Not yet. She had something else to say, and it wasn’t going to be an easy discussion to be heard.

However, she owed it to them that much. “Before I go, I need to tell you something else. It isn’t going to be easy to hear this, but you are the people I trust the most, aside from the twins, and I can’t have the rest of our relationship be built in an omission of the truth.”

The siblings shifted uncomfortably in their seats, equally disturbed. 

“What is it?”

“You’re scaring us.”

Padmé sighed, noticing the swift shift in Luke’s face. She should have cleared this with him before, after all, it was much more of his story than  _ hers.  _ It was too late now.

“Before I tell you, though, I need you both to promise this conversation ends here,” Padmé was firm, “This is the galaxy’s most obscure secret, and I can’t risk getting it out. It’ll ruin too many lives if it does.”

Although they both looked at her with suspicion, they placed their promises.

“Alright, then,” she took a small pause to prepare herself — even if it was impossible to prepare oneself to  _ that _ . “Remember the young Jedi with whom I fell in love? Well, the man I fell in love with  _ died  _ when he fell to the dark side. However, he was reborn as someone else. As someone evil and powerful. Someone that you know as Darth Vader.”

Safira looked at her in pure horror. That couldn’t be true…! Paz was the epitome of goodness, it wasn’t  _ possible  _ that she would have married the epitome of evil. That she would have his children! Safira nearly gasped — his children! Luke and Leia were Darth Vader’s children, and they would inevitably inherit all the bad in him.

“That can’t be true!” Taro nearly screamed, once he realized Safira was too shocked to say anything. “You wouldn’t  _ do  _ that to yourself! You’re smarter than this!”

Padmé swallowed hard; she used to think that she was smart, but she had failed to see every sign of Anakin’s misdeeds — perhaps the fate of the galaxy would have lied in a different path if only she hadn’t been so misled by her love. 

“The man I loved wasn’t Vader. Anakin, that was his name, was a  _ good _ man, and… he was the love of my life,” Padmé confessed, “Of course, the man he was before doesn’t excuse Darth Vader’s wrongs, but Anakin gave me everything I ever looked for in life. Above all, he gave me my children, and I will always be grateful for Luke and Leia. Because, when I look at them, and I see the kindness in their eyes and the goodness in their hearts, I only see Anakin. Never Vader.”

Safira wrapped her arms around herself, unconsciously protecting herself from the Sith long dead. “Do you promise?”

Padmé made a face, unsure of what she was supposed to be promising to.

“Do you promise that your  _ children  _ won’t… Turn out like him? Like Vader?”

Luke became uncomfortable next to her; that was about the one thing he couldn’t promise. He surely  _ hoped  _ so, but there were no guarantees to that he wouldn’t, someday, fall. Upon hearing for the first time about Anakin’s transcend to the darkness, he concluded that he wasn’t truly in control of his life. Anakin was good, and he had fallen; Luke was good, and he could fall, too.

However, Padmé knew better than that. The more time she spent with the twins, the more convinced she became: they were  _ nothing  _ like their father. They sparkled with light, and not even the darkest demons that haunted them would be able to cause their descent. Therefore, she spoke with conviction, “I promise you, Safira.”

Hesitantly and consistently, Safira shook her head up and down. Forcing herself to lower her defenses, she said, “Alright. I believe you, Padmé. You could have lied to us about Vader, but you didn’t, so I don’t think you’re lying about this, either.”

Padmé placed her hand over her heart, pledging her promise. Taro remained reluctant for a few more moments, until he cave in — that was  _ Paz,  _ the woman that had dedicated her entire life to them; the woman who took care of them, who had them in the top of her concerns. She had said it herself, she had lied about her true identity to protect  _ them,  _ and she would warn them if she had any worries about her children becoming evil.

With conviction, he announced, “Your secret ends with us, Padmé. It doesn’t matter anymore, because Vader is dead. He can’t hurt you or your children. He can’t hurt any of us anymore.”

Padmé nodded strongly. Vader was  _ dead _ . He lived only in their past.

At last, Padmé had found the life that she had dreamed for her and her children when she was pregnant. She didn’t care that it only came twenty years too late; she didn’t care that Anakin was no longer there to be a family with them. When she looked into the future, she only saw Luke and Leia there with her. As it should have been ever since the start. 

“I love you, Safira and Taro,” Padmé said with conviction. “I am grateful that fate brought me to you, as you helped fill some of the hole that losing my children caused me. And now that I have the twins back, and I have you, I am complete again.”

Safira became teary, and the hint of an expression crossed Taro’s face. Even Luke, who had already heard those three words a few times ever since Padmé’s arrival, felt a sense of belonging. Not caring that he was being watched, he lowered himself and pressed his forehead to the curve of her neck, having her bring her hand to his face in a motherly embrace.

Understanding very well that mother and son needed a time alone, Safira said her goodbyes. “ _ Thank you,  _ Padmé. For everything. For being here for us and for confiding in us. I… I love you too.”

“You…” Taro mumbled, struggling to find his words — he wasn’t good with expressing his emotions. “You were the best nanny we could have asked for.”

Smiling broadly, although shaking her head negatively at the rawness of his remark, Padmé thanked them. At last, she extended her arm to the hologram, careful not to bother Luke, and turned off the transmission.

Silence overcame them, and for a while, they were content to let it reign.

“Are you okay?” Padmé asked, not daring to break their position, running her fingers gently through the gold of his hair. “Today didn’t go exactly as we had planned.”

Luke sniffed, remembering clearly of everything that had been said, and pulled away — regardless if it broke a little of both their hearts to do so. He brought his knees close to his chest and confessed, “No, I… I don’t think I am.”

Padmé looked at him with concern; respecting his distance, but wishing nothing more than to feel him close again. She tried to find the source of his discomfort, but so much had been said — from telling the story of Anakin’s fall, to the comments made about Leia, to disclosing Vader’s true identity — that it was hard to pinpoint exactly what was bothering him.

“Talk to me, Luke.”

Instead, he smiled at her. That sweet, innocent smile, that tried to certify that everything was alright — even if there was only turmoil inside of him. “I think I need to be alone, right now. To go somewhere I can meditate.”

She nodded, understanding his urge. “Whatever is troubling you, don’t forget that I am here for you. Okay, Luke?”

He would never forget that.

“I… All I need is to connect myself to the Force and let it take me. After that, I think I’ll be alright.”

She watched silently as he stood up. He tapped the wrinkles away from his clothing, taking several breaths until he managed to say, “Will you check on Leia? I  _ know  _ she’s fine, I just… I need to be sure that…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Padmé guaranteed. “I’ll go to her, so you can focus on yourself.”

Luke forced a smile in gratitude, and left the chamber without any other explanation.

* * *

It was dinner time, and Padmé came to find Princess Leia Organa in the diner hall.

The place was rather crowded, and yet, Leia was sitting on her own. Noticeably so, as it didn’t seem to be that many seats available, and the almost completely empty table stuck out. Leia, however, didn’t seem to mind, as she was busy reading the datapad in front of her and mostly ignoring her food.

Although Padmé wasn’t exactly hungry — talking to Taro and Safira had killed her appetite — she grabbed an apple from the counter and walked towards the princess.

“Can I sit with you?”

It took Leia a few seconds to notice someone had been addressing her. When she looked up, she saw Padmé there, with a slight different expression on her face that Leia couldn’t quite understand. So, instead of replying, she asked, “Is everything alright?”

Rather than waiting for permission, Padmé sat across the table from her. She took a small bite to the apple, shrugging. “Just wanted to check on you.”

Leia looked at her with a strange look, with those eyes that tended to scare most people away. Unfortunately, Padmé seemed to be immune to it. “Why…?”

“Do I need a reason?”

Giving up, Leia sighed, deciding it was best to return her attention to the datapad. “I guess not.”

Padmé knew that, if it were up to Leia, they would have stayed in silence for the rest of the night. Feeling a little bold, she prompted, “Why are you sitting alone?”

Without thinking too much — as she was  _ obviously  _ busy with whatever she was reading — she replied automatically, “People think I bite.”

Padmé was thankful for the apple in front of her lips, hiding her snort from the dead tone of Leia’s voice. She appeared to believe it to be absurd, but Padmé herself had seen many times Leia had come close to  _ biting.  _ She wouldn’t say it aloud, though.

“Where’s Han?”

“Probably fixing whatever has broken now on his ship.”

Padmé nodded. She had heard too many times in her short stay at the rebel base that there was  _ always  _ something broken in the Millennium Falcon. 

“You’re not eating,” Padmé said.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat, Leia. Otherwise you’ll disappear.”

“Sure.”

Leia remained indifferent, however, completely ignoring the plate near her, far more interested in whatever report she was reading.

Padmé rolled her eyes, uncaring, because Leia wouldn’t see it. She wondered if she did it to spite her, or if she simply didn’t care.

Clearing her throat, the mother tried again, “Can we talk, Leia?”

With a grim, Leia dared to steal a glance of hers. “And what was it exactly that we’re doing here?”

With a dead expression, Padmé replied, “Mostly, I’m having a monologue of two people.”

For the first time, her remark brought a carefree laughter to Leia. Padmé was proud of that.”

“Alright,” Leia conceded, “What is it that you want to talk about?”

Padmé appreciated the chance to finally have Leia’s eyes on her, and took it as an opportunity to properly study her face. Unfortunately, she couldn’t read much from her traits — there was still  _ so much  _ that Padmé needed to learn about the princess.

Placing the apple over the table, Padmé asked, “What happened?”

Leia’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re looking for a history lesson, or…?”

Padmé took a deep breath to remain calm. Clasping her hands together, she tried again, “No, Leia. I am asking, what happened to you?”

Just like that, Leia’s cynical face disappeared completely, being replaced with something that Padmé couldn’t quite decipher. The princess had no more witty comebacks to offer. 

“ _ Nothing  _ happened to me.”

“That’s not true,” Padmé spoke with conviction. “I’m afraid that you’re not coping with whatever has happened.”

“You mean, other than my home planet being blown up?” Leia remarked angrily, unbelieving of how  _ insensitive  _ Padmé could be. No longer caring, Leia retrieved her datapad and merciless stood up. “Goodnight, Padmé.”

Recognizing a lost battle when she saw one, Padmé didn’t follow her. She let her go, watching as a piece of her heart left with Leia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so we finally reach a point in the story where we focus more on Luke. sorry to all the Luke fans on the standby, I usually get carried away writing Leia (ops) but I promise the next few chapters will be strongly focused on him.
> 
> if you've been here since the start, you'll probably remember that I had Taro and Safira's mother die when they were still teenagers, in the first chapter. However, as I was writing this chapter, I realized that it would be more interesting to have it this way. I've already made the necessary changes in the first chapter, and I'm sorry for the confusion!
> 
> as always, consider leaving me a comment (in any language you'd like!), because your feedback means everything to me


	16. Fifteen

Luke Skywalker climbed the steps of the Jedi Temple in the middle of Coruscant with a calculated amount of carefulness.

The Jedi Temple embraced his presence — the Force reverberated around him, and it welcomed him in.

He smiled.

Upon leaving Padmé’s private bunk earlier that night, a sense of uneasiness troubled him. Consumed him, stealing him of his peace. It all felt… wrong; he needed to go somewhere to find harmony, to meditate and to reach the Force for comfort, and that place didn’t exist within the headquarters of the rebel base.

That drive led him to borrowing one of the Alliance’s speeder — well, more like stealing it while nobody was looking — and he followed towards the Jedi Temple. Although he had been training the ways of the Jedi for years now, he had never been to the last home of his ancestors; heck, he had never been to Coruscant before the rebel alliance lodged there, and to say he was awed by all that civilization, when he had been so used to the barren, spoiled land of Tatooine, was an understatement.

And when Luke finally arrived, he smiled. A strong purge of the Force cleansed his soul as he approached the building, enfolding him — it felt like coming home.

Of course, he couldn’t allow himself to be reckless; the place was still under Imperial occupation, danger lingered everywhere, and he needn’t use the Force to perceive it. He would be careful, he promised himself, because he couldn’t have himself lost, or kidnapped, or worse — killed. Not when he had  _ so much to lose. _

There was no need to worry, though. The Force abode in him, and it would lead him through the darkness. 

That was his one certainty in life. Or so he once thought.

After hearing about Anakin’s story, he found it hard to carry on breathing. The seeds of doubt were planted on his mind, on his  _ soul,  _ and he began to doubt his very path as a Jedi. Because Anakin had been  _ good  _ — sure, he knew that already; he had faced Darth Vader knowing that there was still  _ good  _ in him. However, hearing his story directly from Padmé stole all the naïveté that still resided in him.

Anakin had been good; and because he had wanted the impossible, to save the wife and the child he so unconditionally loved, he fell to the dark side. Everything he had done in his early days, before he became more machine than man, he did in the name of love.

That idea terrified Luke, because he had  _ so much love  _ to give. For Padmé, for Leia, for anybody who came on his way. His love was the essence of his being, and if he couldn’t have his love if it meant he would fall, then what would become of him?

He came to the forsaken Jedi sanctuary hoping to find the answers he sought. The answers about his past, the answers about  _ himself.  _ He prayed that he would hear the voices of his Masters, of every Jedi that came before him; he longed for their guidance, because nobody else in the galaxy would be able to help him through his struggles.

And Luke would do whatever necessary to stay on the light. If he could no longer love Leia and Padmé, then he would walk away from them. He would hide, in the farthest corner of the galaxy, somewhere where he would not be able to sense their presence, and he would love them from afar. He would not make his father’s mistakes; he had listened to history and he had  _ learned  _ from it. Love was his greatest deed, and he would not let it become his doom.

He only prayed — oh, did he pray — that there would be an alternative. That he would be able to bring peace to the galaxy, while guiding his sister in the Force, while still under the wings of Padmé’s caring. He dreaded that he had found everything he had ever wanted in life, only to have to give it all up.

It wasn’t  _ fair  _ that he would lose everything again — but then, being a Jedi had never been about fairness. Being a Jedi had always been about sacrifice.

Luke entered the temple, with his hand securing the lightsaber on his waist, his senses alarmed to any potential threat. The only light came from the outside, from the brightness of Coruscant, and it was enough to provide a good view of how wrecked and dusty the place was.

In a single deed of recklessness, he closed his eyes, allowing the Force to guide him. He trusted the Force him to warn him of any danger surrounding him — he trusted the Force to alert him of the danger within  _ himself.  _ He understood, walking the steps of his predecessors, that he would always be his one and only enemy.

Everything else — it barely mattered.

Keeping his eyes shut, he saw the Jedi Temple as it had been in its prime days; he walked amongst the Jedi, and he saw the face of the Jedi. He looked around himself, surrounded by so many people that were just like  _ him.  _ The flow of life washed over him, and the Force invited him in. Inviting him  _ home. _

Nothing else mattered. He let go of all the strings that still attached him to the physical world, because — he was  _ home.  _ His home would keep him safe, even if it meant he never returned to the material realm again.

Circling around himself, he smiled broadly, as he stood there with his ancestors. 

The warmth of truly belonging was the last sensation that came through his mind before a loud pain hit him in the back of the head. He fell where he stood, the darkness that he had been so afraid of taking over him.

* * *

Leia woke up in a startle, out of breath, and she was sitting in bed before her brain could process how she had gotten there.

There was sweat all over her forehead, and the blankets wrapped around herself only added to her discomfort. However, she could not move. She was frozen within herself.

Her hands trembled as she tightly grasped to the bedding underneath her. Her vision was dizzy and blurry, and the darkness swallowing her in didn’t help ease the desperate beating of her heart. Tingles of anxiety ran down her spine, spreading all across her body — making it impossible to breathe. She couldn’t  _ breathe. _

Next to her, Han Solo barely shifted. He was used to her nightmares by now, he had grown accustomed to them, to waking up in the middle of the night only to find her breathless. Every time, it  _ killed  _ him a little. Every time, there was close to nothing that he could do help her.

He extended his hand until he was touching the small of her back,  _ assuring  _ her that she was alive, that she was safe, and, above all, that she wasn’t alone. It took a few seconds for slumber to completely leave his system, so he could properly look at her silhouette in the dark. 

He felt her shaking under his touch; he heard her desperately trying to catch her breath; he heard the soft cries that escaped her lips. Han sighed to himself — it had been a rough one, and neither of them would be getting any sleep for the rest of the night.

He pushed himself forward, bringing himself close to her. Not entering her personal space — he knew better than to do that while she still hadn’t completely come back to her senses — only reminding her of all her strength through the simple touch of his hand on her back.

“Leia.”

The sweet calling of her name was enough to bring her back, just in time as their shapes started to become clear to the eyes in the darkness. Abruptly, she turned her head to him, allowing him the perfect glimpse of her distressed expression. Several attempts came to her before she succeeded in saying, “Something is wrong.”

Once again, Han sighed. He despised the nights where her nightmares shook her so badly that she started to doubt herself. He was well aware that they were about to enter an endless loop of him having to reassure her that she was  _ alright,  _ while she refused to listen to him. Wrapping his fingers around the back of her tee, he said, “It was just a nightmare, sweetheart. There’s nothing wrong with you. You hear me?  _ Nothing. _ ”

“No, Han,” she merciless pulled away from his hold, setting herself in motion and nearly tripping on the blankets around her legs as she got up. “You’re not listening to me. Something is  _ wrong _ .”

He was torn between following her or simply throwing his body back to the mattress. Using his brain for once, he did neither. “Leia, it was a  _ nightmare.  _ I understand you’re a little shaken up, but you’ve got to  _ calm down.  _ You’re acting a little erratically.”

By then, she had already flickered the lights on and was going through the drawer in his closet that she got to call her own. “You don’t understand, Han. I  _ know  _ there’s something wrong, that something bad has happened. I feel it inside of me.”

“Alright,” he reluctantly conceded, understanding she wasn’t in the mindset to listen to him, and choosing to simply roll with it. “Care to tell me what’s wrong, then?”

“I don’t know yet,” she choked on her words; little were the times she regretted having no knowledge of the Force that resided inside of her — particularly, in that moment, she damned herself for it. “I have to find Luke. He’s ought to have felt it too. He—”

Her body came to a halt. Her eyes sprawled, and whatever was left of her breath had suddenly been stolen from her.  _ Luke. _

_ Something bad had happened to Luke. _

“Leia?” Han called for her again, this time a tad more worried. He had grown used to her shaken state after having nightmares; this, however, was unknown territory. He didn’t know whether to try and talk to her or simply go along with it.

Suddenly snapping back into herself, she quickly threw on some pants and an adequate cotton shirt. She ran her hand through her hair, trying to settle the locks of hair that had escaped her crown braid, but essentially didn’t give a second thought about them. Only when she sat back on bed to put on her boots that her brain stopped running every worst case scenario to warn Han, “Luke is in trouble. We need to find him.”

“What?!” his composure was at last replaced by a frown. “What are you talking about, Leia?”

Finally ready to go, she found his clothes that had simply been left in the floor before they went to bed and threw them at him — automatically, he started to get dressed. She said, “I… I can’t explain it. I  _ know  _ it. There’s this strange feeling in my chest that I can’t shake off, and it’s  _ screaming  _ at me to go after Luke,” she gathered her strength to stare at him again; she needed it, because she was terrified for her brother, and she couldn’t afford the despair that would come if Han dismissed her. “Please believe me, Han.”

Han was startled with the look she gave him; hopeless eyes that glowed with her every emotion. He swallowed hard, pushing himself towards her, half dressed. Gently, he took her hand in his. “I believe you, Leia.”

The truth implied — he would always believe her. He would blindly follow her into the darkness, not caring that it might just lead him to his death. 

She allowed herself a brief moment of selfishness to dwelling inside his eyes, searching for the veracity of his words. 

“Let’s go then,” Han broke their interlude, standing up and grabbing his trousers. “Luke’s in trouble. Let’s go save him —  _ again _ .”

Amidst her anxiety, she cracked a laugh at his comment. Having no other second to spare, they both left the privacy of the Millennium Falcon to go after Luke.

* * *

After whole minutes of loudly pounding against the door of Luke’s private chamber and calling his name — loud enough to wake up everybody who shared a bunk in that corridor — Leia finally gave up.

“He’s not here,” she softly cried, still looking at the grey surface of the door, although her arms were now crossed against her chest. Behind her, she could sense Han’s breath tickling the back of her neck.

“He could be sleeping,” Han argued, not trying to discredit her, only giving her possible scenarios — because they both could hear the tick tock of the clock on their ears. Soon, it would be  _ too late _ . “He’s a  _ heavy  _ sleeper.”

If she didn’t know any better, Leia would have chuckled at him. Leave it to Luke to peacefully sleep through an entire space battle. However, she refused to dwell on those memories of him; any second in vain was one second closer to his death.

Closing her eyes, Leia pressed her forehead to the cold metal of the door. She emptied her mind of any thoughts and feelings, determined to seek his presence in the emptiness.  _ God,  _ what was she doing? What was she trying to achieve? How could she honestly believe she would accomplish anything when the mere concept of the Force scared her away—

“He’s not here,” she spoke firmly, with a conviction that impressed even herself. She perceived a pair of doubtful eyes on her; she was well aware that Han shared most of her skepticism with the Force — although his came from a place of mistrust, whereas hers relied on fear alone — and she could not blame his apprehension.

Surprisingly, he did not question her. “Alright. What do you want to do next?”

Leia rested still for a few milliseconds, thinking, before abruptly turning to face him again. “Padmé. If anybody knows where he is, it’s her.”

He conceded, and allowed her to lead the way.

* * *

Unlike the desperate knocks to Luke’s door, Leia pounded Padmé’s door with rage.

Princess Leia Organa was unsure of where her relationship with Padmé lied as of now. Sometimes, she genuinely enjoyed the presence of the monarch, even believed they were close to, somehow, becoming  _ friends.  _ Other times, she couldn’t bear the simple sight of her; where her mere figure brought back all the conflicts inside of her and drove Leia  _ insane.  _ In that precise moment, the princess was leaning towards the latter.

It did not help that the last time they interacted had ended with Padmé questioning about things Leia was not ready to talk about, that led to Leia shamelessly walking out on her. The  _ nerve  _ that Padmé must have, to be asking questions of matters that absolutely did not concern her as if she had any intimacy with the terrors of the galactic Civil War.

Unconsciously, Leia clenched her fists as she heard movement inside, giving her wrist a break from the excessive knocking — she had applied so much energy to it that the back of her hand was now red and burning; she had applied so much energy to it that one more knock and she would have torn the door open.

When the door finally hissed open, a very sleep deprived Padmé came into view. Her eyes barely open, she still wore her nightgown, and her brain had yet to start functioning normally for her to fully process Leia’s presence there — or even notice how Han had conspicuously looked up at the ceiling, expressing his clear discomfort as to how she was dressed.

Indecorously, Padmé leaned against the door frame, so she wouldn’t fall back asleep on her state of semi alert. She tried to repress a yawn and failed miserably.

“Leia? What are you doing here, it’s,” another yawn, “It’s barely two in the morning.”

Leia, however, did not have the time for politic games or politeness. Harshly, she demanded, “Where is Luke?”

Padmé’s behavior shifted for the worst. If her eyes were barely open before, now they were wide awake in alarm. “I—I don’t know where Luke is.”

Leia couldn’t believe it. If anyone let her, she could have punched a wall. If she didn’t have years of diplomatic training, she  _ would  _ have punched a wall. Unfortunately, her only behavior was her cheeks tainting with red and her eyes burning with fire. “Think  _ harder,  _ Padmé.”

Padmé didn’t quite enjoy the tone that she had been addressed with, but under the circumstances, it hardly mattered. “I  _ don’t  _ know, Leia. We were together earlier in the evening, and he left to meditate. He said he wanted to be alone, to connect himself to the Force, and left without any other explanation.”

Leia pursued her lips. “So you  _ do  _ admit that something happened during your time together. That you somehow triggered him.”

A little defensive of herself, Padmé wrapped her arms around herself. “I never said that, Leia.”

Rolling her eyes and mumbling curses under her breath, the princess realized she was only wasting her time. Luke was far more important than whatever quarrels she had with the woman she was supposed to call  _ mother _ , and, keeping that thought in mind, she simply turned on her heels, destined to find him one way or another.

Impetuously, Padmé reached out to grab her wrist, before she walked away for good. After her impulsive act, she couldn’t tell what alarmed her the most — Han’s immediate grim, or Leia brutally pulling away from her touch. Swallowing hard, Padmé raised both her hands in the air in a negotiating stance.  _ Note to self  _ — don’t sneak up on Leia in her state of distress.  _ Correction  _ — don’t sneak up on Leia at all.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Padmé reasoned, “I’m sure there’s plenty reasons on why you can’t find him. He’s probably  _ asleep _ .”

Another grim from Han, and Padmé honestly couldn’t tell what she was doing wrong anymore. Leia, too crossed for chitchat, simply stated, “Something  _ happened. _ ”

Unfortunately, her simple answer didn’t amuse Padmé. “How do you know?”

By then, Leia had no more patience left within herself. “Luke and I are bond by the Force. When I say something has happened to him, I  _ mean  _ it. Now, excuse me. I have to go find him before he does something stupid, such as getting himself killed.”

Leia started to leave once more, and, this time, a little wiser Padmé shouted, rather than trying to initiate physical contact again, “Wait! I’m coming with you.”

That statement, however, was the most absurd thing Leia had heard all night. “We don’t—”

“That’s non negotiable,” Padmé merely rebuked, already having gone back into her chamber to get herself ready. It barely passed one minute before she returned, wearing the most suitable outfit for running and potentially having to shoot somebody. She found Leia staring at Han with a repudiating look, whereas he looked down on her apologetically, and, too tired to deal with it, Padmé simply pushed herself through them, saying, “Let’s go.”

She regretted her fervid move as soon as she was through with it; of course, Leia wouldn’t idly allow her to take the lead. Padmé should have known better, especially because — she wasn’t the Force sensitive one.

“Care to tell me what happened?” Leia snapped, rushing her little legs to be just a little ahead of Padmé. She didn’t know exactly where she was going, she was just — going. “Luke wouldn’t simply  _ vanish  _ without telling anyone if something bad hadn’t happened.”

Luke wouldn’t simply vanish without telling  _ her _ , she meant. Leia realized for the first time that a big part of her range was directed at  _ him.  _ Her brother! Whom had disregarded and betrayed the relationship they had crafted across the year and simply abandoned her.

He had abandoned her — like everyone she had ever loved did.

She scared the prickle of tears away from her eyes before they had any chance to surface. No, there was still time. He was still alive; Leia knew as much.

She wouldn’t be able to  _ breathe  _ if he had died on her.

“I…” Padmé stumbled on her own words, “I don’t know! He was fine when he left—he  _ looked  _ fine!”

“Being fine and looking fine are two different things.”

With a frown, Padmé peeked sideways at the young girl. She wondered if she had been speaking from experience.  _ No,  _ scratch that—she was  _ certain  _ Leia spoke from experience; Padmé had been there for so many days and she yet had to learn  _ anything  _ from the depths of Leia’s individuality, because the princess was so determined to keep the pretense that her life was a bed of roses.

Sadly, that was not the proper time to dwell on that.

“Well. Okay,” Padmé tried to think faster than the speed of her legs. “He learned a little of Anakin’s story, and… And it wasn’t easy to hear. I didn’t go into details, but—I believe he was a little shaken off by it. Hearing about Anakin tore apart all the idealizations he had made about his father.”

Leia couldn’t help herself but to think,  _ good _ — it was about time Luke started to glimpse the truth of the man that Darth Vader had been. However, that also added more anger to her feelings. Again, Anakin Skywalker had become the bane of her existence. Again, she was convinced that Anakin Skywalker had every intention to carry on  _ ruining  _ her life from beyond the grave.

“Of course Vader had to be involved,” she mumbled to herself, without any intention of being heard. If she were—then so be it. It was time Padmé learned the consequences of speaking about that name.

Whether Padmé had heard Leia or not, it was unclear. 

“Luke is entitled to his story, Leia.”

“Yeah? Look how well that turned out,” at last, they arrived at the main hangar and Leia momentarily stopped dead on her track to angrily point at Padmé and accuse, “If anything happens to him, anything  _ at all  _ — then that’s on the both of you.”

Leia returned to her pacing, leaving a speechless Han and an incredulous Padmé behind, who could do nothing but to stare as she went on to do— _ whatever  _ she needed to do.

“She’s, hm,” Han tried, with his hands on his waits, “She’s not very fond of the Anakin guy.”

Padmé knew he only wanted to break the ice between the two of them, but she could only look at him skeptically. “So I’ve noticed.”

Leia, in the meantime, was too far ahead to bother herself with whatever they had been talking behind her back. She found the operating man on call and came at him ruthlessly.

“Where is Luke Skywalker’s X-Wing?”

The startled jump the officer gave at the sound of her voice was borderline pathetic. He turned to face her with frightened eyes, “Your… Highness?”

“Luke Skywalker’s X-Wing,” she repeated slowly, to make sure she wouldn’t have to recite it again. However, even if he hadn’t be able to hear her clearly, he wouldn’t dare to cross her crossness. “Is it here?”

“Hm,” he looked down to check on his datapad — he couldn’t tell, though, whether it was a relief to deviate his eyes from her angry figure, or if her prying stare left on him only made him more nervous. “Yes, sir—Your Highness! It hasn’t left the hangar for the last couple of days. Ma’am.”

Leia knew the rigidness of her behavior wasn’t aiding to Officer’s agitation, except — she didn’t care. She could apologize afterwards, once Luke was safe and sound. “What about other vehicles? Has anything left the hangar in the past few hours?”

“Princess?” his confusion only increased as interrogation went by. “It’s the middle of the night. Nothing—”

“ _ Check _ .”

Leia didn’t have the time for games or explanations — besides, she was  _ their  _ superior office; she didn’t owe them any clarification. If only people could use their brains and understand that! 

Luckily, in that moment, the young officer did.

“What—” he nearly gasped, and his expression shifted from incredulity to pure terror. He gazed at Leia ready to be exterminated — almost like she was  _ Lady Vader  _ herself. If only that thought had been enough to back her down. “Your Highness, I swear—”

“What is missing?” she demanded simply. If only people could stop stalling—she had a stupid twin brother to  _ save _ .

“A speeder, ma’am,” he spoke roughly, and if Leia paid him enough attention, he would have noticed his hands were trembling. “I don’t understand, ma’am. I’ve been here all night, guarding the ships. I swear— _ I swear! _ —that no spacecraft asked for clearance to leave! And it would be impossible to leave without me noticing!”

Leia sighed evidently; Luke was a Jedi, deceiving the guarding officer was the least of his concerns. For a moment, she even felt bad for the guy. It was her duty, after all, to guide and lead those that looked up to her, instead of scaring them — as she had done. “Thank you, officer. You’ve done your job and you’ve helped. That’s all you need to worry about.”

It was true — he  _ had  _ helped. Now, Leia could tell for sure that her brother had sneaked away from the rebel base, without letting anyone know; her mind wasn’t simply playing tricks on her. 

Unfortunately — and she damned herself for it — there was still a long path to fully tracking his whereabouts.

As she walked away from the post guard, Padmé and Han came to meet her, alongside the sole Wookie on the base. Chewbacca looked ready for war, and Leia assumed Han had briefed him in during her short absence.

“Luke stole a landspeeder,” she clarified, tiredly rubbing her temples. “It’s a start. At least we know he’s not off planet.”

Han stared at her with leeriness. “Coruscant is a big place.”

Leia closed her eyes for an instant — as if she didn’t know that!

“It’s a start,” Padmé said it as well, with more conviction than the princess. Someone needed to remain positive if they were to find Luke, and she could easily play the part of having to go against every emotion that haunted her inside.

“No, Han is right,” Leia spoke sadly. “It’d be easier finding a needle in a haystack.”

Padmé was aware of such; still, she snapped, “So this is it? You’re just giving up?”

Having all but forgotten of the brief calm she had achieved, Leia broke back into her anger. “ _ I’m  _ not giving up, Padmé. But I have no idea what to do next! Because I don’t  _ know  _ where Luke  _ is _ .”

Chewbacca roared something; nobody seemed to pay him attention, and Padmé wasn’t about to ask for translation. “You can find him, Leia. If there’s anybody who can trace him, it’s  _ you _ .”

“I don’t know how to!” she yelled, louder than ever before. She might as well have attracted the attention of everybody in the hangar. Han placed his hand behind her back, to ease her; she appreciated his effort, but little did it work.

Padmé walked towards her with her head tall, and placed both her hands over Leia’s shoulders, trying to gather every of her attention. “You need to, because Luke is relying on you. His very life might be on your  _ hands. _ ”

Leia grimaced; was that supposed to have helped?  _ At all _ ? 

“If Luke relied on me, then he wouldn’t have left without telling me. He wouldn’t have been  _ so insensitive  _ as to disregard everything and everyone around him and to walk into danger without any care!”

If Padmé felt Leia’s shoulders shaking under her touch, she discarded the notion. “I understand that you’re angry, and you have every right to be. However, there’s no point in being angry with him  _ now  _ if you can’t be angry with him later.”

Abruptly, Leia pulled away. She took a few steps back, and raised one of her hands to her mouth, trying to conceal the true depth of her feelings. “You’re not making this any easier!”

Padmé traded a quick glance with Han, begging him for help — however, he was just as powerless as she was. The only person able to aid Leia would be Luke, who had inconveniently vanished into the dead of the night.

So, Padmé took a long breath, and freed her mind of every worry and second-guessing; somehow, her stance caused Han to do the same. If Leia were to search her feelings and find the whereabouts of her breath, in the position of someone who had never consciously used the Force before, she would need the environment to be as absent of distractions as possible. 

“Tell us what you need to do, Leia,” Padmé spoke softly, and the Wookie agreed behind her. “You’re the lead.”

Leia shook her head, desperately. The more she dwelled in her anguish, the more it seemed she strayed away from the Force.

“I don’t know!”

Han stepped into her field of vision, approaching her. Padmé wrongly assumed that Leia would withdraw from him as well, because — Padmé seemed to have forgotten than Han wasn’t  _ her _ .

“I believe in you, Leia,” he said earnestly, receiving a mocking scoff from Leia’s end, which he ignored. “You’re stronger than you judge yourself to be. I know you’re scared, you’re scared of losing Luke, you’re scared of delving into a reign of power that you don’t agree with. But that’s why I’m here, sweetheart. To hold your hand to guarantee that you don’t get lost.”

Symbolically, Han grabbed her hand. It was small and loose compared to his hold; he held it tight nonetheless.

“Why don’t we take a seat.”

Not waiting for her to acknowledge him, Han slipped his other arm around her waist and led her to a nearby bench. He sat down with her, while Padmé remained silently staring at them from a small distance, and did nothing more. The rest was up to Leia.

Once again, Leia closed her eyes. She shut her mind off to anything surrounding her — a familiar technique that she had acquired while being tortured on the Death Star, by the hand of her own father, in attempts of resisting the mistreatment. It had worked back then, it should work again now.

Except—she needed to do so much more than that. She didn’t even know where to begin.

She tried picturing her brother — his big blue galaxy eyes; his hair as gold as the golden rays of sunshine; the dimple on his chin. His smile that came as a promise of better days; his constant happiness; his eagerness to do better than the day before. His big heart; his tender touch. His gentle face under the burning of suns of Tatooine; his scared, but brave smile as he he stood tall — but remarkably smaller than all the other stormtroopers — inside her prison cell on the Death star. His body lying still on the dark, death swallowing him in.

Leia gasped in panic as she abruptly reopened her eyes. Her chest was choking with the oxygen it was offered, her heart was pounding loudly on her ears, her brain was nearly exploding, her eyes were tingling with her wailing. She raised both her hands to her head in pure despair.

Padmé dropped to her knees in front of Leia in a rush, trying to find the eyes that the princess so frightfully tried to hide. “What is it, Leia? Tell us what you saw…!”

Leia shook her head; she couldn’t do it! She couldn’t say it aloud, because — what if enunciating it made it become real?  _ No _ ; Luke was alive, she could tell as much. She sensed him alive; ever since she first made that mental contact with him on Bespin, she relied on the whiff of his existence, always there with her. She didn’t even know of her powers back then, but he remained with her, all the time. Losing him would be losing part of herself, and she doubted she would be able to push herself through it.

“Luke…” she cried, only to herself — maybe to him, too — pressing her hands hardly against her eyes. She regretted it promptly, as she was haunted by the images that the Force had just offered her.

“Leia, talk to us!” Padmé begged, resisting the urge to grab Leia by the knees and shake her until she offered them anything. She didn’t, because nothing good could come from that. And they were already in trouble enough as it was. “Is Luke dead?”

“No…” she replied, alright, but she spoke so hoarsely it was bearable hearable.

“What did you  _ see _ ?”

Leia might have turned her eyes to Padmé, but she wasn’t looking at her. In fact, Leia barely saw her. “He’s lying on the floor. So still, so lifeless… And it’s so dark… He’s… He’s so scared…”

Padmé swallowed hard, shoving away the idea of  _ her son  _ being hurt. “Focus on the environment. Where is he?”

“I…” she didn’t want to think about it, to see that image again, but the more she was pressed, the clearer the picture became in her mind. “The… The floor is red, and… there are pillars everywhere, and… He looks so small. He’s so small.”

Padmé — and even Han — tried to form a picture from the simple description, to no avail. She tried again, “Have you ever been to that place?”

“No, I… I don’t think I have.”

Sighing loudly, Padmé raised herself to her feet again, tapping her fingers against her own jawline as she tried to think. “It’s not enough. We need more.”

Leia dropped her elbows to her thighs and buried her face on her hands. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do! Even worse, she didn’t know what she  _ could  _ do. Everything was a mess — she could barely see anything, as everything was blurry and out of focus; she could barely hear anything, as the only sound drumming in her ears was the one of a clock; she could barely feel anything, so disconnected to herself she had become.

And Padmé’s presence there was no help at all. 

“You have to try again.”

When Leia failed to answer, verbally or not, Han concluded it was time he interfered. He wasn’t enjoying the scene in front of him, anyway. “I think we should slow down a little.”

Padmé remained unconvinced. “We can’t. Luke’s life might just depend on us.”

Chewbacca howled several sorts of sounds; Padmé didn’t need a translator to know that the Wookie agreed with his peer. 

“We  _ need  _ to take a break,” Han demanded, close to Leia but not daring to touch her; disturbed as to how petrified within herself she was. “Look at her! She can’t take it!”

He wouldn’t say Leia was nearly breaking; no — the woman he knew was  _ unbreakable.  _ That much he was sure of.

The old queen crossed her arms under her breasts, in an intimidating stance. It would have bothered him, if he weren’t so used to seeing that same attitude in Leia. Nobody could scare him as Leia.

“If we stop now, Luke might die.”

“If we don’t  _ stop  _ now, you might lose both your children!”

“That’s not how the Force works! The Force means life, not death. It doesn’t  _ take,  _ it only gives.”

“Don’t be so self absorbed—look at Leia! Your  _ daughter.  _ She is giving every part of her, and the stupid Force keeps asking for more! If we don’t stop, there will be nothing  _ left _ .”

“That’s not how the Force works, Han!”

“ _ Stop! _ ” at last, Leia demanded — she couldn’t even tell exactly what they were yelling about, only that the voices were enhanced in her mind, deafening her senses. She no longer hid herself, instead sitting tall, not ashamed of the flux of tears that freely streamed down her cheeks. “Will you two  _ please  _ just shut up.”

They both mumbled their apologies, unsure whether their offering of remorse would be breaking her appeal for silence or not. At least, she didn’t yell at them again. 

Han was taken by surprise when Leia frantically grabbed his hand,  _ begging  _ him to keep her from slipping away. He interpreted her gesture as a concession to place his hand on the back of neck — it became tainted with her sweat immediately. Likewise, Chewbacca purred something about not enjoying seeing her like that. 

Leia pushed him and his worry away from her mind, alongside Han.

“Padmé,” she called softly, afraid that her voice would start betraying her, keeping her stare into the far distance, “Tell me  _ exactly  _ what happened. Everything. I know you’re hiding something, but I need to hear _ everything _ . I don’t care if it hurts me, I can take the blow. I just need to know, if I am to find him.”

Shivering, Padmé was forced to agree. Yes, she hadn’t been completely honest with Leia; she didn’t feel comfortable passing on everything that had been said. Unfortunately — they were long past the point of no return.

Padmé sat next to her, in a bench too small to properly fit the three of them. She needed to, though, because she couldn’t bring herself to look at Leia while she told her a story.

The story.

And Padmé told her everything. From ringing Taro and Safira, to presenting them to Luke, to the sad, ultimate story of Anakin’s fall. She didn’t detail how he had fallen, only why he had fallen — just like she had indirectly told Luke. If the short version had already hurt him, she dreaded the day she would have to speak of the graphic one. She mentioned the things that had been said about Leia by Imperial officers; she spoke of her revelation about Vader’s real identity. She reminisced sadly as the Abdallah children feared that the twins would suffer the same fate as their father, and she claimed fiercely that her children were too good to follow Vader’s footsteps. 

With her eyes closed to the world, Leia depicted the events passing through her mind. Mostly, she focused on Luke, and how he should have felt during every revelation. She saw his happiness about meeting Taro and Safira, and his eagerness to being presented as Padmé’s  _ son,  _ and his sudden retrieval for at last learning of Anakin’s descend to darkness. She perceived his indignation of the things said about her, and his frustration of associating Anakin to Vader — when he refused to connecting the two personas. She sensed his fear of following his father’s dark path, and the seeds of doubt that had been planted on his mind — because if Anakin was good and he fell, then there was no stopping him from falling as well. She saw him questioning everything that he had learned in his journey to becoming a Jedi, he saw him questioning himself and the good that was the essence of his being. She heard him softly calling her name, because she was the person he went to in his times of trouble, and she felt his fear beforehand—

“I know where he is,” she spoke abruptly, snapping her eyes open in a hurry. She didn’t realize as her arm opened wide and found Padmé next to her as well, “He’s in the Jedi Temple.”

At last, Leia could breathe. The weight that had been pressuring over her lungs finally lifted itself and gave her the relief of a fresh breath after she had been drowning, and her vision started to gain focus again. Unfortunately, her first sight was the great amount of people staring at them from the afar; of course they were, there had been shouting and there had been crying and that scene couldn’t have been  _ pretty.  _

Padmé placed both her hands over the arm that had been extended to her, thanking Leia over and over again. Her gratification, however, went unnoticed by the young girl.

Leia stood up. The simple motion had her brain scrambled inside her skull; she had to force herself to take yet a second breath until her senses completely came back to her. There was a headache lingering in the back of her head, and she ignored it as everything came back to place.

She had a goddamn brother to rescue.

With a quick shove of her hands against of her cheeks, clearing them from the tray of tears, she fueled herself into action. Leia rushed to the same officer to whom she had been talking earlier — there was no point in traumatizing yet another agent with her ruthlessness, and he would know better than to try to second guess her again.

“You,” she screamed at him, once he noticed she was approaching and shifted his attention to his datapad, trying to disguise how he’d been staring at her before. Leia couldn’t care less about that; as a royal public figure, she was too used to people staring. Likewise, she could feel the stare of her three companions behind her. “Reach Mon Mothma and General Madine on the commlink.  _ Now _ .”

He would do as he was told, of course he would, but he would like to have a reason to disturb two of the highest ranking members of the Alliance in the middle of the night. “Ma’am?”

“Tell them we’ll have to anticipate the attack to the Jedi Temple,” she spoke so quickly she nearly tripped on her words. “Luke Skywalker has made a judgmental err and has gotten himself into trouble by  _ visiting  _ the Temple, and now it lies on our hands to get him back. General Madine should pull the best strike team to help us.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded, grabbing his commlink but taking yet another pause. “Wouldn’t you like to talk to them yourselves, Your Highness?”

“There’s no time,” she dismissed it without a second thought. “Luke is in danger. We’re going in first before he ends up getting himself killed. I trust you to get things running smoothly,” she quickly gazed at the tag on his uniform, “Officer Jacques. Do  _ not  _ let me down.”

She didn’t wait for his assent to start pacing rapidly towards the Falcon, with only her brother on her mind. Them it hit her like a lightsaber through her chest, and she stopped midway on her track, nearly causing Padmé to bump into her.

“Leia? What’s wrong?”

With a hand tightly pressed to her messy hair, she turned around to look at Han with shameful eyes. “Han. I didn’t even ask—”

The grim that took over his face was borderline comical. “That’s because you don’t have to. You’re family, and Luke is family. Now, let’s go.”

He passed right past her, with the Wookie murmuring whole sentences that matched Han’s. Grateful for his answer, Leia went after him, with Padmé following behind. Seconds later, the four of them were inside the Millennium Falcon, on the cockpit, ready to take off.

“Buckle up, ladies, we’re about to do some reckless piloting here,” Han grumbled, messing with all sorts of buttons over the console, with Chewbacca sat next to him on the copilot chair. It was a bliss, really, that he couldn’t have seen Leia rolling her eyes — as if he was capable of  _ ever  _ prudently piloting his ship.

Oh, Padmé was about to have a very bumpy first ride on the Falcon.

Leia held tight to the seat under her; not because she was any terrified of his piloting, but her anxiety towards the state of her brother was slowly eating her alive. Her mind was a mess. She couldn’t explain what was happening, but her every blink was a different vision of a possible route the rest of the night would take — and none of them comforted her.

Luckily, Padmé was equally worried on the seat next to her, for the  _ other  _ twin, therefore she didn’t have the time to worry about  _ Leia  _ as well.

The Falcon raised itself and they were flying through the dark skies of Coruscant. Han and Chewbacca exchanged a few sentences; however, silence was louder.

Until Han left steering completely to the Wookie’s hands — his paws, really — and spun his seat to look at Leia; he found her shrunk over the chair, her feet on the cushion and her knees drawn to her chest. Her head seemed to be on the clouds, although her breast rose and fell with her breathing pattern so quickly he could almost hear the thundering of her heartbeats.

In a subtle attempt to bring her back to him, Han gently caressed the soft skin of her ankle. It worked, and she gazed at him while pursuing her lips on a forced smile.

“He’s going to be fine, Leia,” Han promised, even though there was no guarantees to his promises. All he desired was to take the weight off of her; it was evident how worn she had become after all that Force shenanigan, and he despised himself for how little he could have done to help her through.

“He has to be,” she said in a whisper, leaning further back into the seat to properly rest; the Force knew she would need to gather all the strength she still had for the battle that had yet to come.

“He will be,” Padmé stated, knowing she was intruding in a conversation she hadn’t been invited to. She couldn’t tell  _ why  _ she had done it, other than her desperation for Luke’s life. She wouldn’t apologize for that.

Han inevitably smirked at the sight of Leia’s annoyance, to which she replied with her own chuckle. He found her hand and tenderly kissed the knuckles of her fingers, and left them glued to his lips for the rest of the journey.

They  _ all  _ would be alright. They had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is that how the Force works? probably not. do I really care about it? not really ksdfskdfjhd
> 
> yes, I know I've promised a Luke centered arc, and he was lowkey shoved into second plan this chapter, but — trust me, this is still a Luke arc. I just needed to add some more drama to it hehe
> 
> as always, don't hesitate to leaving some feedback! i love hearing your thoughts and opinions about the fic :)


	17. Sixteen

When Luke Skywalker slipped into consciousness again, it was too bright and everything hurt.

His eyes burned the moment he opened them, threatening to jump out of his skull. Like a flick, a headache ignited as a promise that he was still  _ alive _ — although he wasn’t that keen on  _ that  _ specific promise. He’d much rather different sorts of pledges, like a soft kiss on the lips, or holding hands with a person he loved, or the sweet comfort of a hug in the dead of the night.

A headache was, if anything, an inconvenience. It only added suffering to a night that already wasn’t very pleasant.

He blinked several times, trying to both scare his aches away and allure the memories of what exactly had happened. Everything was blank, he was dizzy and didn’t recognize the room he was in. All he noticed was that everything felt  _ wrong,  _ and he had a bad feeling about it.

“Somebody is awake at last.”

There was a voice — the voice of someone he didn’t recognize, and Luke frowned. He tried to move, to get his aching body working and get out of that mess before something  _ worse  _ happened, only to realize his hands were tied by a binder, stealing him of any chance he might have had of knocking his captor down.

In light of everything, he realized, it could be  _ worse  _ — however, there was still too much potential for things to go catastrophically wrong. 

And, of course, that thought alone was an open door for bad things. He should have  _ known  _ better.

A slight nudge to his ribs, and abruptly, he was pulled into a sitting position, his back against the wall. At least he could see the face of his captors now; he found two Imperial officers staring at him with mischievous faces.  _ Man,  _ he didn’t have a good feeling about it  _ at all.  _

“Hello,” Luke said, a bit naively. At least, that was the impression he tried to give, as he shifted around to comfortably sit within his restraints, while studying both the environment and the people in front of him. “Nice evening for a walk, don’t you think?”

Luke looked around himself; he must still have been somewhere inside the Jedi Temple, there wouldn’t have been the time to move him — and that room  _ definitely  _ didn’t assemble an Imperial prison hold. Above all, he had too many good feelings about the place, like the Force had once been strong there.  _ Like the Force was whispering into his ears.  _ Unfortunately, that feeling didn’t transcend to the Imps staring at him. They weren’t stormtroopers, and given their insignias, Luke concluded they were high ranking officers — well, he thought so; he wasn’t good with that stuff and his head was dizzy anyway.  _ Leia  _ would know it; she was good with politics and memorizing rankings and just about  _ everything _ . He understood that her memory and perception probably resulted from years of diplomatic and royal training, but it drove him  _ insane _ .

Unconsciously, he grimaced to himself. He would most likely die if he didn’t come up with something real fast and Leia would never know what happened to him. Like everybody else, he had let her down, and he hated himself for it.

He spared her a thought, but didn’t reach for her in the Force. He dreaded to disturb her; Leia had already done  _ so much  _ for him, he didn’t think it was fair to ask her for more.

Besides, there was still a chance he could get out of this. A remote one, but any chance was better than nothing.

The officer apparently in charge kneeled in front of him; it was the same who had first addressed him. “And now, we will discuss what the rebellion is  _ planning _ .”

Luke swallowed hard, but didn’t allow his facial traits to shift. “The rebellion? I’m not part of the rebellion, I wouldn’t be able to help.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not! I swear,” Luke squinted his eyes in order to read the name on his uniform, “Officer Cabrini.”

Cabrini clicked his tongue in disappointment. “I’ll give you one more chance.”

Luke remained unfazed, waiting for whatever would happen next. Cabrini made a motion for the other official, who went by the name of Fedor, and Fedor brought up a lightsaber with such a delegacy it was nearly poetic.

_ There it was,  _ Luke damned himself. His one chance of escaping, resting on the enemy’s hands. Considering the big picture, things had just gotten  _ worse _ .

“Would you like to explain to me how the little  _ nobody  _ that you claim to be would have such a polite weapon on your possession?”

“It’s a family heirloom,” Luke spoke without thinking, watching with hypnotized eyes the lightsaber hilt swinging in Fedor’s hand. That story was printed on his soul. “It belonged to my father, but he died before I was born. That’s the only thing I have left of him, so I carry it with me, wherever I go, as a way of honoring him and having him  _ with  _ me.”

Sure, he had lost his  _ father’s  _ lightsaber during his battle with Vader, and built a new one from scratch. That was merely a detail, though, a detail that did not concern  _ them _ .

Cabrini looked at him with shame. “Is that your story?”

“Yes,” Luke responded automatically.

“And why should I believe you?”

Luke stared at him with big eyes. “Well… Why wouldn’t you?”

“Well,” Cabrini gave him a face, “Here’s what I think: you’re a rebel spy undercover, invading the Jedi Temple in the middle of the night hoping not to get caught. Your mission is to assess the weakest points of the Temple and report back to the Rebellion, and tomorrow there will be thousands of rebel ships looming over the Temple, ready to take the Imps down.”

Luke’s expression didn’t as much as flinch, safe for the flicker of fear that flashed through his eyes. “That seems like a very elaborate plan.”

Cabrini gave him his evilest smile. “Would you like to know what else corroborates to  _ my  _ theory, over yours?”

The young Jedi hummed, waiting.

“The fact that our little rebel spy looks  _ exactly  _ like Luke Skywalker, the sworn enemy of the Empire.”

Luke prayed his body language didn’t betray him at the mention of his name. He wasn’t so sure. 

“Luke Skywalker? No no no, I’m definitely  _ not  _ that guy,” his voice became higher pitched, “We look nothing alike!”

Cabrini clicked his tongue several times, while Fedor chuckled soundless behind him. “Now, the question is, what  _ should  _ we do to you, Mister Skywalker? Are you more profitable alive… or dead?”

This time, Luke swallowed hard. He focused all his physical strength to try and break the metal binders apart; they didn’t flinch. 

“Either way, we can’t  _ lose _ ,” Fedor spoke for the first time, “We bring him in alive, we become the most respectable officers in the Empire. We gain morale and we ascend. We bring his head in, the Empire will pay us an absurd amount of money, for killing the killer of our Lord, and we’ll never have to work again. Luke Skywalker came to us as a gift from the stars.”

A single drop of sweat emerged in Luke’s forehead. Potentially, everything was about to get even  _ worse _ . “Listen, I’m sure—”

There was a smack to the back of his head to silence him. If his headache was already killing him, now it was nearly insufferable. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Cabrini leaned so close that Luke could feel this bad breath over the skin of his face. “You are going to tell us  _ everything  _ we want to know about the Rebellion, and we will let you live. Sure, we’ll turn you to the Empire, but being alive for the rest of your life inside a prison is better than being  _ dead _ .”

Luke bent forward until their foreheads were almost touching. “I will  _ die  _ before I tell you anything.”

Cabrini smiled wickedly, standing back up at last, “We’ll see about that.”

Indecorously, Luke leaned back against the wall, not showing a single care. He had meant his words; he would die before he ever consciously betrayed the Rebellion, and — he would  _ never,  _ consciously or not, betray his sister. 

He heard Leia’s voice inside his head, telling him that his life was more important, that the Rebellion would survive either way. He ignored it; there were a few occasions, even if rarely, that he knew better than Leia. This was one of them.

Well — maybe she  _ was  _ right, but Luke wouldn’t be able to bear the guilt of it. He wouldn’t be able to look at her eyes again and tell her he had betrayed her, betrayed the cause that she had given her life for. She had always been strong, it was time he learned something from her. 

“What I can’t understand,” Cabrini carried, slamming his closed fist against the open palm of his other hand, “Why would the rebellion send  _ you,  _ their hero, in a fool’s errand. Are you  _ so  _ dispensable or doesn’t the rebellion recognize your worth?”

“In the grand scheme of things, everything and everyone is dispensable,” Luke began to philosophize. Maybe, if he stalled long enough, a  _ miracle  _ would happen and the situation would work in his favor.

After all, he had learned the greatest life lesson with Han — never let odds come in your way.

Cabrini pinched the Jedi’s nose gently; Luke felt like sneezing. “Aren’t you the clever one.”

“I’m just an average mind,” Luke shrugged, wrinkling his nose as if to get rid of the sensation of the imperial’s finger there.

Cabrini laughed, and slowly picked up a pace around Luke, back and forth, back and forth. “Now, Luke, if you don’t start telling us what we want to know, we’ll have to move on to ulterior means, and nobody wants to harm your pretty face. Luke.”

A shiver ran down his spine; exteriorly, however, he remained perfectly cool. “I’m not scared of you, or your threats. I have suffered at the hands of the Emperor’s rage and survived to tell the story. I assure you, you are nothing more than a nuisance compared to him.”

“You underestimate us, Mr Skywalker,” Fedor denounced, perfectly still beyond Cabrini. “If you refuse to help us out, we’ll have you begging for mercy by the end of the night.”

Luke raised one of his brows, thinking of all the possible scenarios that would probably cause him to indeed beg for mercy. Anakin dying on his arms aboard the second Death Star. The prospect of anything ever happening to Padmé that would steal her from him. Han’s all but dead body frozen in carbonite. Leia chained to a disgusting crime lord as if she were a piece of meat.... Yes, for sure, he himself didn’t make it to the list.

“I’ll take my chances.”

Crossing his arms, Cabrini offered yet another twisted smile, “Suit yourself.”

Fedor, at last, began a slow pacing towards the young Jedi, casually hitting the hilt of the lightsaber on his hand. Before, Luke thought he would play the role of the good officer; now, he wasn’t so  _ sure  _ there was a good officer at all.

“I was wondering, what does the Rebellion want with the Jedi Temple?” Fedor prompted, “There’s nothing but dust here.”

Luke merely shrugged. Truth be told — he wouldn't know. Even if the High Council had any plans for taking back the Jedi Temple, he wasn’t part of the High Council, therefore he would only learn of it immediately before a possible attack in which he would be asked to take part, or immediately  _ after,  _ once all the action had already happened.

The bad part of it all — neither of the two imperial officers was Force sensitive; they wouldn’t be able to know that Luke was telling the  _ truth.  _ On that aspect.

“And then I realized,” Fedor raised his index finger in the air, like the most ingenious comprehension had just come to him. “The Rebellion wants  _ nothing  _ with the Jedi Temple. This building… It’s irrelevant, for whatever they’re planning. However, a Jedi would take a lot of interest in the home of his ancestors.”

Cabrini nearly jumped in joy once the realization came to him as well. “The Rebellion  _ doesn’t  _ know you’re here. Luke Skywalker has come here on his own volition, and  _ nobody  _ will know what happened to him. Poor young Skywalker, disappearing without a single trace. Suffering the same fate as the Jedi that came before him.”

Closing his eyes, Luke sent a silent prayer to Leia. He didn’t know if she would be able to hear him, but she was the  _ only  _ one with any prospect of hearing him. He didn’t do it so she would panic and go after him in the middle of the night, but because he didn’t want her to spend the rest of her life worrying about what had happened to him; if he had died or if he had simply walked out on her. 

He sent her one last message of love, and stopped thinking about her at all. 

“Which brings us to the question,” Fedor carried on, “ _ Why  _ are you here?”

Luke pressed his lips together, remaining in silence. 

In the absence of an answer, Fedor kneeled in front of him, directly over his legs. “If I were you, I’d start talking before things get nasty on your side.”

In an act of pure disdain, Luke raised his bound hands and rested them behind his own head. “This is  _ war _ . Neither side is innocent, they’re both nasty.”

What the officers did not know was that he used his new stance as a disguise to properly search the room again, looking for any object  _ at all _ , that he could aid with the Force and use as a weapon. To his dismay, the room was bare of anything other than the three human beings there.

“We know that. You, particularly, have too much blood on your hands. You killed Darth Vader, okay. You killed Emperor Palpatine, okay. Two figures of power, with whom you didn’t morally agree. That’s understandable. However, how are you going to justify the  _ millions  _ of lost life aboard the first Death Star in its destruction? You pulled the trigger, Skywalker, you’re responsible for all those innocent workers who only wanted to put some food on their family’s table, to  _ feed  _ their starving children. How are you going to explain to all those little kids that you killed their fathers? The fathers that they worshiped, that were their everything. How will you explain to their wives that the loss of their loved ones was no more than a consequence of war? That their husbands’ lives didn’t matter  _ at all _ ?”

Luke wasn’t sure of what took over him; was it his rage for being accused of those atrocities, or was it his guilt for  _ knowing  _ he had too much blood on his hands in the course of four years of war — he couldn’t tell, and neither did it matter, as it was already too late. Before he could stop to think, before he could realize his actions, Luke Skywalker stole the upper hand and urged his knee up, hitting Fedor between the legs with all the force he still had.

Fedor yelled instantaneously at the suddenness of the blow, his hands unconsciously holding tight to his wounded area. He fell to his side, while making grims of pain, the lightsaber being dropped to the floor and rolling a few inches away from the Imperial. 

_ This was it, this was his chance.  _ Of course, it was a chance that came to him completely as a work of fate — he  _ really  _ hadn’t considered such an outcome — but it was all he needed. Luke turned to the lightsaber and reached for the Force inside of him when—

A loud blaster shot echoed through the room, and tears prickled Luke’s eyes. He barely had the chances to process the events that took place before he found himself with both his hands strongly pressing against the wound in his thigh, trying to stanch all the bleeding.

In the corner of the room, a very infuriated Cabrini stood tall with the blaster on his hand. All his previous smirks disappeared from his expression, and he looked like he was ready to kill.

“Son of a bitch,” Fedor mumbled under his breath, finally regaining most of his composure and stretching his body forward to gain possession of the lightsaber once more. He fumed with rage, and if it weren’t for the big picture, he would have easily killed Luke Skywalker right there.

“I hope this suits you a lesson,” Cabrini said, walking towards Luke again. “This was merely a demonstration of what we can do if you dare to play with us. Next time, you won’t be so lucky.”

Although Luke heard him perfectly, he was too busy chewing on his inner cheeks in order to keep from crying out to come up with any witty remarks.

Having reclaimed the movement from his legs, Fedor dared to approach Luke once more. He grabbed the Jedi’s face and forced Luke to look at him. “Now, we are going to  _ talk _ .”

Luke’s entire body was trembling, including his head. He fought his every urge to spit on Fedor’s face, as nothing  _ good  _ would come out of it.

“You see, the only reason I can think that a Jedi would break into the Jedi temple is so they would want to try to restore the Jedi Order. However, why would the last Jedi want to restore the Jedi Order if the Jedi stand no more? Unless, of course, you have  _ found  _ someone, another Jedi, or a person that you wish to train to become a Jedi. Why don’t you share that with us, Skywalker?”

It hadn’t been an invitation, and once again Luke’s thoughts betrayed him when he remembered Leia. At least, this time, there were no Sith Lords around to steal his thoughts. 

He tried to judge which kind of probing was worse: Vader intruding his mind or Officer Fedor poking the blaster wound on his leg with his finger and causing him to at last yell in excruciating pain. Naturally, he wouldn’t recommend either.

Cabrini started laughing again at his discomfort, an act that only encouraged Fedor to dig his finger deeper into Luke’s flesh. “Who,” a pause, “Are,” a pause, “They?”

Luke grinded his teeth, trying to control his pain. By now, tears freely streamed down his cheeks and there was no avail to attempt to stop them. “I won’t tell you  _ anything _ .”

“Don’t be stupid, Skywalker! You’re in pain, I can  _ end  _ your pain. All you need to do is tell us their name,” Fedor insisted, his hand perfectly lodged on Luke’s leg. “Who are they?”

The Jedi breathed in a long breath, and leaned back against the wall. With his eyes closed, he sought refuge within the Force. With the perfect picture of Leia in his mind, he found solace in the memory of her, and of his mother, and shut everything out. Nothing would strike him again.

“Skywalker. Skywalker!” Fedor screamed his name over and over again, becoming infuriated that there was no response from the prisoner. Cabrini approached his peer with an open palm, and Fedor handed him the lightsaber.

Cabrini came nearer Luke’s body, and with a single swing, he hit Luke’s forehead with the lightsaber hilt, so powerfully that the Jedi cried a huff and his body fell to the ground with a thud.

That was the last thing that happened before the sound of shots deafened the room into an agonizing silence.

* * *

Leia couldn’t describe the feeling inside — when she saw the act of violence inflicted upon her brother, she shot to kill. 

She saw their bodies fall to the ground, lifeless, and didn’t spare a second thought about it.

Much like her, Padmé didn’t pay much attention to them as she rushed to Luke’s side, helping his fallen body back up. The mother felt her eyes prinkling with tears as she saw his beaten figure, and cupped his face with both her hands just to make sure he was still  _ alive _ .

Luke’s breathing was heavy and loud, while two stains of blood streamed from the just acquired wound in his forehead. His eyes were shut tightly, but it didn’t matter, because he didn’t need his sight to sense the distressed woman standing in front of him.

“Mother.”

“You’re alive,” Padmé allowed herself one last moment of emotion, before kicking back into action. Looking down, she saw the wound on his leg, and tore the fabric of her own shirt in straps to wrap around his thigh. It was far from the best immediate emergency care, but it would have to do until they were safely out of the Temple. “Keys! Get me the keys!”

It was a matter of seconds until the keys to the binders around Luke’s wrists were shoved onto her face — by Han, nonetheless! Padmé would have expected Leia to be a little more interested in the well-being of her brother, and although that wasn’t the proper time to dwell on that, she wondered what was stopping the young girl.

“How…” the young Jedi’s voice was powerless, so unlike his usual demeanor. “How did you find me?”

“Leia,” Padmé said simply, shooting the daughter a quick gaze — Leia stood still by the entrance, presumably on guard so they wouldn’t be caught off guard. However, it would seem that she did it poorly, as there was too much distraction written over her face. Except—Padmé couldn’t pinpoint the reasons behind her diversion. Sighing, she returned her attention to Luke, “Can you stand?”

“I think,” he replied gravelly, accepting the masculine shoulder that was crammed under his arm to help him stand. He appreciated Han’s effort — after all, the act of standing remained too far away from  _ walking.  _ And the lack of physical work allowed him the smallest opening for his mind to realize before the pain of standing kicked in, “ _ Leia?! _ ”

“Leia,” Han intruded in a means to shut him up. He had one arm around Luke’s waist, while carrying the entirety of his body weight — and Luke was  _ heavier  _ than he thought. Han was beginning to question how he would be able to bring the fallen Jedi all the way back to the Falcon. “Please tell me you can walk.”

The moment Luke attempted to lean on his wounded leg, he winced in pain; his flesh was  _ burning _ . At the notion, Padmé slipped under Luke’s still free arm, copying the same stance as Han; it was nearly pathetic the way they stood there, with an overly tall Han and a too small Padmé trying to wriggle Luke in between.

_ At least it’s not Leia,  _ Han thought to himself, grimacing with the simple vision of Leia and her several inches shorter than Padmé trying to help.

Too bad he didn’t spare a simple thinking to his next comment, “Can’t you use the Force to fly or something?”

That only gained him a pointed glare from both Luke and Padmé.

“That’s not how the Force works…”

“That’s not how the Force works!”

They said it at the same time, with completely different tones. Han feigned a look of offense, reminded in that moment that Leia must have inherited her anger and lack of patience from  _ Padmé _ .

“It was just a suggestion,” he mumbled, taking the first steps with Luke thrown over him. He hadn’t expected Padmé’s attempt to make too much a difference, considering their difference in height, but it was slightly easier to carry him now. “Come on.”

They took small but quick steps towards Leia, who silently peeked outside the hall from where they had emerged, with her blaster held high. She heard them approaching, and made a quick motion with her hand that they could proceed.

“Wait!” Luke yelled a muffled scream, once they passed the portal. “My lightsaber—Did you grab my lightsaber?”

Although he didn’t direct his question at anyone, Han assumed it was aimed at him. “Your lightsaber? I didn’t see your lightsaber.”

With the little movement he had, Luke shifted his body back towards the small room. “We must go back, then! My lightsaber is there with them! I saw it.”

Han resisted the urge to roll his eyes at him and his failed attempt to get Han and Padmé magically walking back inside. “ _ Fine _ . I’ll go back and look for it.”

“ _ What _ —are you insane, Han?” Padmé howled at him, looking like she was ready to slap him. “I can’t support Luke on my own! Leia will go.”

In particular, Han didn’t welcome the suggestion. He didn’t doubt that Leia could take care of herself,  _ especially  _ in a room of dead men; however, she could barely bring herself to be near  _ him,  _ the person she loved, ever since Jabba, let alone two male imperials. The outcome to that — it had every potential to be disastrous.

Too late, though, as Leia rushed past him without ceremony. He was doomed to patiently wait for her return, while twisting his head back so he could try and see her in an angle that would most likely lead to neck pain in the following morning.

Leia held her blaster close to her chest as she entered the room of Luke’s imprisonment once more. It was an irrational act, she knew as much, but she’d rather be ready to shoot in case anything should stagger her.

As she approached the bodies, the smell of burned flesh bothered her to the point she pressed her hand to her nose. With a quick gaze around them, she sighed when she failed to spot the goddamn lightsaber, which meant only one thing — she would have to go through their dead bodies.

She kneeled next to the nearer body, wishing a second too late that she had tried to sense where exactly the lightsaber was located. Forcing herself to focus at the task on her hand, she searched the pockets of his pants with her heart thudding fast in her chest.

The taste of bile invaded her mouth, and she required a few seconds to stabilize herself. She then searched inside his coat, and her hand became drenched with blood from the open shot in the middle of his chest. She forced herself to breathe once again before coming to the conclusion that the lightsaber wasn’t there.

Cussing to herself, Leia crawled to the next body. It laid on its stomach, so she had to use part of her strength to roll him over. With repudiation and damp eyes, she slipped her hands under the dead body and pushed it aside. The first relief of that troubled night came at the sight of the delicate hilt that had somehow slipped under his body after she had shot him down.

Leia grabbed the lightsaber and secured it tightly on her fist, glad to finally leave that room of living nightmares.

“Let’s go,” she demanded once she returned to them, not bothering to look at any of them —  _ especially  _ Han. Now definitely wasn’t the time for him to go all worried and mushy on her; they had all the time in the galaxy for that once they were safe.

Neither would she admit that if she dared to think about her feelings in the middle of a mission, she might not be able to control herself enough to stop.

So, Leia led the way, double checking every hall and every passage from where they had come. On their way in, they had run into so many stormtroopers guarding the Temple, most who were luckily too distracted with their idle task of guarding a place filled with nothing but ghost stories; however, Han had been forced to stun one or two as they passed through.

Now, as they carried a wounded Luke, luck wasn’t much on their side. They lost the dexterity of before, and Luke’s soft cries surely got in the way of their tactical silence. Therefore, when they reached the first major hall, Leia instantaneously knew they had made it to a dead end as chatting stormtroopers marched in zigzags.

“We can’t get through,” Leia announced in a low voice, looking down at the floor so she wouldn’t have to look at them. The quartet lurked in the shadows, behind a big infrastructural pillar, just before the turn that would put them directly in sight with the stormtroopers. “We need a new route.”

“There are several space docks across the temple,” Han said, “We might have better luck finding a closer one and com Chewie to pick us up there.”

Chewbacca had stayed behind with the ship, as he was their only way out of there. Of course, the Wookie hadn’t much enjoyed the idea of being left behind, howling several sounds of disagreement — he had a  _ life duty  _ to them, therefore he absolutely needed to go to make sure everything went smoothly. Han argued that someone needed to stay with the Falcon, and reasoned that the Wookie wouldn’t want to leave either mother or sister stressing behind without any insight of the situation. Reluctantly, Chewbacca agreed.

Now, Han wasn’t so sure he had made the right choice. He’d gladly leave Padmé behind — or Leia, even, if he didn’t fear for his life so much — if it meant the Wookie would spare them the effort of carrying Luke and do all the work himself on a whim.

“Alright,” there was a plan, it was a start. Leia’s head shifted towards the other woman. “Padmé, care to help?”

Padmé was unsure of how to respond to that simple remark and the cynicism hidden behind Leia’s tone. “I—How can I help?”

“Well, you’re the only one of us who’s ever been to the Jedi Temple,” Leia pointed out the obvious, and the darkness might have hidden the annoyance on her face, but not on her voice.

“It’s been over twenty years since I’ve last been here,” Padmé argued, the weight of Luke appending over her finally starting to crush her. “It doesn’t help that everything is dark! I have no idea where we are.”

“You can figure it out as we go,” Han grunted, attempting to turn on his heels when Luke suddenly became heavier over him. “Luke.  _ Luke _ !”

Alerted to her brother abruptly slipping into unconsciousness, Leia rushed to him. For the first time in their acquaintance, they stood at the same eye level, and she raised her palm to give his cheek several little slaps. When that didn’t work, Leia allowed her cool façade to kick into her as she found the gunshot wound on his leg and pressed her fingers strongly to it.

Like magic, Luke awoke with a hiss. He barely had the chance to acknowledge his physical pain before Leia grabbed both his cheeks between her thumb and index and compressed his own lips, forcing him to look at her. “You could have a concussion.  _ Don’t  _ fall asleep.”

With her so angrily threatening him like that, he wouldn’t  _ dare _ . He nodded, so she could feel his consent on the palm of her hands, and she finally let go of him. 

Without any further bickering, they headed back, trying their luck with a different turn. And then another, and another, and another. Not having much of a choice, Leia allowed Padmé to call the shots, even when her instincts sometimes told her to go the opposite way.

Nobody dared to say out loud that they were most likely walking in circles, but the thought lingered on everybody’s mind, and Luke relying on Padmé and Han didn’t help with the unspoken tension in the air.

Until a loud blast in the distance reverberated through the halls of the Temple and the ground beneath their feet trembled.

The sound that followed it was nearly deafening. 

“What…” Luke whispered, realizing they had stopped all but breathing, anticipation of what would come next. “What was that?”

“The Rebellion,” Leia spoke with conviction, in the same monotone as her brother. Once the initial surprise wore over her, she raised her head high. “We need to leave  _ now.  _ Things are about to get messy.”

Han quickly gazed around himself, trying to think of another way out — and his greatest plan of the  _ year  _ came to him. “Come on. I have an idea.”

They were so desperate that they followed his lead without any protest.

When Leia realized what was his plan, she mentally promised herself not to tease him about his average stupid ideas for at least three days. 

“Leia, can you,” Han prompted, and didn’t need to finish his sentence before she followed through with it.

The plan was too simple: there was a large, fancy window facing Coruscant’s horizon, and Leia shot through it, shattering its detailed stained glass to pieces. As she did, Han pulled out his comlink and reached for Chewbacca, telling him the general coordinates to their location, and for the Wookie to be on the lookout for the green lightsaber that Leia wielded outside the window as to signalize. 

A few sets of bombs went off until Chewbacca’s arrival, and each of them added another layer of stiffness over the prospect of a hoard of stormtroopers coming on their way.

The sight of the Millennium Falcon lowering itself from the skies and opening it’s ramp towards the window was a heaven sent. Leia used the lightsaber hilt to get rid of the few shards that were still attached to the apron, and hoped she had succeeded as she started to climb the window that was higher than her shoulders.

She learned that she indeed hadn’t been triumphant when a shard cut through the palm of her hand — however, adrenaline didn’t allow her to properly feel the extension of the laceration. Still, she appropriated from her new viewpoint to properly clean off the remaining glass out of the way for the three that were still to come. Minding the gap between the window and the ramp — a gap miles and miles up from the ground — she carefully calculated her leap and jumped over.

Leia impatiently waited as Padmé climbed over as well, and both ladies helped retrieve an injured Luke that Han forced up the window. His body collapsed onto the ramp with a bang, while shivers of anxiety ran through Leia and Padmé over the prospect of him falling off to his death.

He didn’t, and the queen and the princess nearly dragged his body inside the Falcon. Leia spared a single glance behind, and was relieved to see Han following close behind them.

“Alright, Chewie, let’s go!” Han yelled to the interiors of the spaceship, and learned it hadn’t been in vain when a Wookie squawk responded. He hit the switch to shut the ramp, and ran inside after the other three humans.

He found Luke lying over the cot, with Padmé carefully tending to him, while Leia fumbled through the cabinet looking for the medical kit. Surprisingly, Luke resembled far more alert once he had reached safety, and Han assumed some of it came from the innate fear of getting scolded for disappearing without telling anyone.

He couldn’t tell about Padmé, but Han didn’t doubt that Leia had a  _ lot  _ to say — it was only a matter of time until she leashed out.

For now, though, their silence was worse than any potential yelling.

A little bit  _ too  _ angrily, Leia threw the medical kit over the table, giving Padmé all the grounds to work on the Jedi. Unaware of her hostility, Padmé found a bacta patch and gently placed it over Luke’s thigh. He would still need proper medical care once they returned to the rebel base, but it would hold him up until their arrival.

“How are you feeling, Luke?” Padmé asked with her most tender voice, while sitting on the edge of the cot. She had her hand running through his golden hair locks, as if to certify that he was actually  _ there _ .

“I’ve been better,” he said lightly, with a soundless chuckle, trying to soften the atmosphere. However, he couldn’t tell whether it had worked, considering he was still too scared to look at his sister.

Meanwhile, Han could  _ only  _ stare at her; Leia leaned against the wall, her face written with the anger directed at her brother’s stupidity. Han asked in a whisper, so only she could hear, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” her response came so quickly that it felt automatic. He didn’t even think she had properly heard him; her brain had simply been conditioned to reply to that specific question always with the same answer.

“You’re…” he swallowed roughly, attentive to her stance. “You’re bleeding.”

Leia unconsciously looked down to her hand, noticing the mess of blood in her palm. She stared at it intensely, mesmerized by the flow of blood as well as the pain it brought her. Then, all too quickly, she stroked her hand against the fabric of her shirt, both to hide it and to clean it — her blouse was already drenched with the blood of her brother and the blood of imperial officers; it barely made a difference.

“Leia—”

Unaware of the faint discussion happening right next to him, Luke gathered all that was left of his strength to say, “You said that Leia found me…?”

He was desperate for answers, and it was clear that his pondering had been directed at his sister. Padmé unintentionally gazed at her daughter, and Leia suddenly grew uncomfortable with the three sets of eyes so blatantly staring at her,  _ even  _ when she made a point of not looking at them at all. She counted to ten, praying that her anger would subside, or that they would realize they were bothering her and leave her aside. When neither of those things happened, she’d simply had enough and stormed out of the room, without a single explanation, heading towards Han’s private bunk.

The way the three of them followed her exit with their eyes would be comical under any other circumstances. They still stared at the void of her absence when Luke dared, “Did I say something wrong?”

There were moments, very rarely, that Han felt like  _ punching  _ Luke. “Yeah, you did,” he accused, not bothering to provide an explanation as he left to go after Leia.

Luke tried to raise his body, as if to go after the two of them, but Padmé held him back with her arm. “Don’t. You’re wounded, you need to take it easy until we get you patched up.”

Without much of a choice, he lied back down. “What’s wrong with Leia?  _ How  _ did she find me?”

Padmé breathed out heavily, reminiscing with sorrow  _ everything _ that had happened before they found Luke. “Leia found you with aid from the Force. She wasn’t prepared for it, she wasn’t  _ ready  _ for it. It was raw, and it was cruel, and it nearly took  _ everything  _ from her. I’m sure you’ve had your reasons for disappearing like that, but, Luke… You owe her one  _ hell  _ of an apology.”

Just like that, Luke suddenly looked very small. The guilt of his actions started to weigh on him, and in a moment of pure selfishness, he tried to reach to his sister, only to learn she had completely shut herself from him. The notion that she was purposely avoiding him hurt him even more.

He brought his hand to his head, wincing when he touched the cut on his forehead. “You think she’ll ever speak to me again?”

Padmé snickered gently at his pondering. “Of course, Luke.”

Nodding, he closed his eyes, but didn’t allow himself to fall asleep.

Han waited a few minutes outside his own personal cabin, where he knew Leia to have gone. He was doing his best to give her all the space that she needed, however, standing there with only the worry for her well-being in his mind proved to be the most arduous task.

Only when he absolutely couldn’t hold himself back anymore that he dared to open the door and come in. He found her in the refresher, meticulously washing her hands from the stained blood. The blouse she had been wearing had been tossed to the floor, and she stood there in her bra only.

She hadn’t noticed his entrance, so focused she had been on the red water going down the drain. Dreading to make her uncomfortable, Han opened the first drawer he saw and pulled one of his old shirts from there, fumbling with it on his hands as he walked up to her. 

Spotting him in the corner of her eyes, Leia tried to feign a smile — whether she succeeded, she couldn’t be certain. With their newfound proximity, Han noticed the splashes of water over her face, so he grabbed the towel from the rack and gently wept the droplets from her cheeks and forehead.

“I’m fine, Han,” she promised him, at least shutting off the faucet. The cut on her hand no longer bled, and she accepted the tee he offered her with the wounded hand as if to prove a point. 

“I know,” he agreed, too used to having the same conversation over and over again. He gave her the courtesy of looking away as she slipped the shirt over her head, then invited her to join him in bed with a simple gesture.

Han sat on the edge of the mattress, trying to encourage her to lie down, only to be met with her usual reluctance. “Come on, Han. We’ll soon be back at the base, I can’t rest as of now.”

He offered her a pointed look, and it was mostly his annoyance that led her to lie down with her head on his lap. He said, “We have what, about twenty minutes. You can take a quick nap.”

Leia snorted at his suggestion — oh, how  _ good  _ did it sound. “I’d rather not get a glimpse of what I could have only to be stolen from it in twenty minutes.”

He smiled sadly at her, rubbing his thumbs lovingly against her pale cheeks while being swallowed by the black holes of her eyes. “It’s been an exhaustive day.”

She exhaled exaggeratedly, as if to say,  _ tell me about it.  _ Remaining silent, she took in his offer and snuggled closer to him, until she was curled up in a fetal position over his lap. She grabbed the fabric of his shirt, ensuring herself with a sense of security and constancy.

He carried on stroking his hands against the skin of her arm; habitually, like something he would gladly do for the rest of his life. “I know that you’re  _ fine _ , but I was really worried about you today. First, you were nearly  _ forced  _ to use the Force to find Luke. Then, call it your instincts all you want, but I  _ know  _ you also relied on the Force to wander through the Jedi Temple and locate Luke so easily. And Leia, I saw your face when you shot those imperials down, and when you had to search their dead bodies… It wasn’t  _ nice,  _ Leia, and you can’t convince me otherwise.”

Turning on her side, she hid her face against his belly. “It… It wasn’t.”

For the first time, he stopped caressing her skin; although she had yet to deny his touch, he would rather play it safe. Instead, he waited in silence for her to say  _ anything _ .

“When I saw them hurting Luke, I… I don’t know what kicked into me. I was so enraged that a human being would inflict so much pain into another human that I became what I dreaded the most: I became  _ them _ .”

“That’s far from the truth, Leia,” Han reasoned, wishing he could look at her face. “You stood up for someone who was getting unfairly hurt. You stood up for injustice. That’s… That’s something to be proud of, not ashamed of.”

“I can’t be proud of having killed someone, Han,” she said softly, “That’s not who I am.”

“Nobody is arguing against that, sweetheart.”

He missed the point completely —  _ she  _ was. “I am  _ glad  _ that they are dead, Han, and I hate myself for it. Luke’s my little brother, it’s my duty to protect him from harm, from harmful people, and I…”

All things considered, at least she was speaking of her brother again, rather than to silently aim her rage at him for the troubles he had caused. To Han, that was a  _ start _ . “This is war, Leia, and… You’ve killed people before. It has never bothered you before.”

_ Not bothering her before  _ was an understatement. She wasn’t proud of having taken anybody’s life — except, of course, Jabba the Hutt; she had liberated her spirits with his death, and she wouldn’t apologize for it — but like Han had said, they were in the middle of  _ war.  _ It was either shoot or be shot at. 

“I never had to go through their bodies before. Or see their faces. Or have my hands stained with their blood,” she confessed, “It feels… personal. To have them taken from their sons and daughters, just like my parents were taken from me.”

“Don’t humanize the very people who would mercilessly kill innocent people. An entire planet that wasn’t involved in the War,” Han reasoned,  _ praying  _ that she would, for once, listen to him. “Your actions are justified,  _ especially  _ if it came to choosing between them and your brother.”

“I know,” she said heavily — she  _ did  _ know that; sometimes, she couldn’t understand  _ herself.  _ “I guess… Having to fiddle with their bodies to look for Luke’s lightsaber wasn’t…  _ comfortable.  _ I felt like going sick. I don’t like feeling like this.”

“It won’t be like this forever,” Han assured her, understanding her discomfort to have its roots in what had happened at Jabba’s palace, because of  _ him.  _ But then again, what did he know about it? He didn’t know what exactly had happened, neither had he even undergone some sort of invasion like she had. “You are very strong, Leia.”

Unsure of how to respond to something she didn’t quite believe  _ in,  _ Leia found it safer to change the subject. “Lie down next to me. Please?”

Like she’d even need to ask—Han raised her from his lap for the single second it took him to rest by her side. They were tossed in the middle of the bed, her on her back to him, him with his hands kept to himself until she grabbed his arms and wrapped them around her own waist.

“We must have about fifteen minutes until we reach the rebel base,” she estimated, “It’s the perfect time for us to simply… coexist.”

Following her lead, he snuggled her closer and buried his nose amidst her messy hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay y'all gotta tell me what i'm doing wrong because i got so little feedback for the last chapter that i was sad :(


	18. Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been asked quite a lot whether Ahsoka is making another appearance in the story -- yes, she is! several chapters from now, though, so please bear with me hahahah
> 
> this is one of those chapters that I simply loved to write, and I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did :)

Padmé, Leia, and Han all waited outside the medical bay in silence, each facing a different direction, as they waited for the medical droids to work on Luke Skywalker.

Dawn was starting to leave them and the dark sky was turning into shades of purple. Although nobody dared to address it, they were all _exhausted._ Having to go after a missing Jedi in the middle of the night, with little — if any — sleep was a hazardous task, especially to Padmé, who hadn’t fought in a war for over twenty years. 

Although nobody admitted it, they were all mentally drafting a way to tell Luke that his actions had been irrational and foolish. From a gentle mother’s advice from Padmé, to a smack in the back of the head from Han, to a lot of impolite yelling from Leia.

It didn’t help that neither of them _knew_ the reasons behind Luke’s reckless deeds. Perhaps that was the main reason on why no one dared to give in to their fatigue and try to grab a few hours of sleep while Luke remained perfectly safe under the care of the droids — because they were too unsettled with the prospect that something _bad_ haunted Luke, something that was on the way to steal the pretense of peace the last weeks of the Civil War had achieved.

That thought remained in everybody’s mind; still, everybody preferred the tension of silence over the possibility of discussing an evil force coming on their way. 

After they had gotten Luke safely to the medbay, Padmé excused herself briefly to change, considering that the blouse she wore had been torn in half when she assessed Luke’s wound back in the Jedi Temple. Leia no longer cared about appearances or even the possibility of being seen wandering through the base at the crack of dawn, and she still wore the white linen shirt of Han’s that he had handed her back in the Falcon, so big that it suited her as a dress.

To everybody’s surprise, Padmé returned to the waiting room carrying all sorts of bags of chips and crackers, while having a holder with three cups on her other hand. How she had managed to break into the kitchen to bring them those tiny meals was unclear, however, Han and Leia were too settled into the comfort of their lethargy to ask any questions.

Caring little, Padmé simply threw the snacks over the table in front of the seats where the couple was seated, before offering each their respectful beverages — a Spiran caff for him, a hot chocolate for Leia, and espresso for her. Han accepted his cup without any thought to it; Leia, however, stared at the cup with suspicion.

Padmé, not in the mood for any other tumult, simply took the empty seat next to Leia. Yes, she wouldn’t lie about it, she _had_ been studying every little personal trait of the three of them — even of Han, considering that he just came in the package — as a way of scoring points with them, with _Leia._ Maybe that wasn’t the best occasion to show Leia that she was determined to make every effort possible, even memorizing her preferable beverage; maybe, under any other circumstance, Leia would have appreciated her intention — honestly, Padmé was too tired to overthink it as of now.

As it happened, so was Leia, who simply shrugged a few moments later and allowed the heat of the mug to warm her hand. She leaned back on the seat, head resting against the wall, legs far stretched in front of her, and closed her eyes. She hadn’t meant to fall _asleep_ , no, but she soon entered a state of semi-consciousness where her mind took her to places she hadn’t been in a long time.

The safety of her home in the palace of Aldera; the warmth of Queen Breha’s embrace after she had fallen and scratched her knee; her father carrying her on his shoulders so she’d be on the top of the world. The peaceful diplomatic journeys between Alderaan and Coruscant aboard the Tantive IV; Prince Escort Bail Organa running after her in the public gardens of Aldera; her mother teaching her how to do her hair. Her first heartbreak at the age of sixteen; the tiresome job of trying to make herself heard in the Imperial Senate floor; crying on her father’s arms after she saw injustice happening in front of her own eyes, and the pain of not being able to do everything to save those in need being too unbearable for her to breathe. Vader holding her by the shoulder to force her to witness the destruction of Alderaan; the darkness of her soul upon the realization she was completely alone in the world; a chain around her neck stealing her of her—

“Your Highness.”

Leia’s eyes shot open at the sound of her title, a little bit disorientated after being so abruptly pulled from her semi dream state. She looked at the officer standing a few feet away with dreadful eyes — it was clear that he wasn’t comfortable at being there, for being the one disturbing the princess in her tiredness. Leia’s start soon became annoyance as he favored looking at the far war than at her, all because she wore a male shirt rather than her typical elegant dresses. 

Leia was _sick_ of it; she was tired of people worshipping her, treating her as some sort of deity, rather than an average person. She wasn’t a goddess, she was merely a human.

She was thankful for Han gently placing his hand over her thigh, stopping her from snapping at him for taking so long to start talking.

He only did it given the intense glare the monarch gave him, that he could feel on him even if he didn’t look back at her. “Madam Mon Mothma has requested somebody to go see her at her office. She’s looking for an explanation over the events of today, and she is not very pleased.”

Leia sighed heavily — _of course,_ Mon Mothma wouldn’t be pleased; nobody was. Now, she had to go fix Luke’s mess when she didn’t even know what the mess was _about._ She would have to leave the comfort of that most uncomfortable chair, find something suitable to face the High Council, and have the most inconvenient talk with her peers and superiors — most who already didn’t give her much credit and looked down on _just_ the princess that she was, unaware of how the world worked.

Even if—nobody knew that better than her.

“Alright, I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

The officer nodded, curtsying respectfully, and was about to leave when Han’s rough voice called up to him.

“Did she ask for Leia specifically?”

He looked a little surprised, _especially_ for hearing the princess being addressed so informally. “No, sir. She didn’t specify.”

“Okay. Scram, now.”

Leia had to repress her laughter at Han’s lack of manners in dismissing the man, even more at how awkward the office’s departure had been, with him unsure whether he could turn on his back or not and eventually slamming his arm against the wall. Once he was gone, Leia beamed freely at Han.

“You’d be a great diplomat,” Leia teased, leaning her tired body against his arm rather than getting on her feet and following her duty. “I think it’s time for a career change.”

“I think you might be right,” he said with a stiff nod, giving her a quick kiss to the temple and all of sudden getting up. “In fact, I think I might start right now.”

Leia suddenly frowned; even Padmé, who had been respecting their privacy, abruptly gazed at the smuggler.

“Han…? What are you—”

“Shh,” he politely silenced her, both his hands on his hips in a stance that was comical for everyone but him. “You two stay put. I will deal with Mon Mothma’s pointless inquiries.”

Padmé genuinely looked scared, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Han’s face became incredulous. “You’re doubting my eloquency, Padmé?”

“Eloquence,” Leia corrected him, the hand over her mouth hiding her smirk muffing the sound of her voice.

Naturally, Han simply erased the past five seconds of his life. “You’re doubting my eloquence, Padmé?”

Padmé stared at him blankly. “I don’t know, you make a pretty strong case against _yourself_.”

Feigning a hurt expression, he clicked his tongue, “Alright, then, guess I’ll just go off and prove how articulate I can be. Don’t be surprised when they hire me and fire _Leia_.”

Smugly — and not giving them the chance to argue against his insane idea — he walked away, leaving a very perplexed Padmé and an amused Leia behind.

He smiled to himself, knowing that, for the briefest moment, Leia wouldn’t have to worry about anything more.

Padmé harshly glanced at Leia, “You’re not going to stop him?!”

Little caring for appearances, Leia pulled one of her legs up the chair, hugging it slightly. “Why should I?!”

“Well, for starters, he’s about to make a fool of himself…!”

“Right?!” Leia hissed, smirking at her. “My only regret is that I can’t be the fly in the High Council room to spy on him.” 

A little bit incredulous, Padmé felt comfortable enough to join her in her laughter. Leaning back again, she sipped on her drink.

“He really loves you, you know.”

Just like that, Leia’s smirk was replaced with a grim. “Yes, I _do_ know, but thanks for pointing that out.”

Unable to miss the sarcastic tone behind her voice, Padmé wisely chose to ignore it. “No, Leia. He _worships_ you.”

Tired both of the day and from whatever direction Padmé’s conversation was aiming at, Leia pulled yet her other leg up. She wasn’t very fond of Padmé’s word choice — nobody should be worshipped; people were just… people, and holding them in a pedestal only led them to delusions of grandeur, that could very well make a small politician from a Mid Rim world the most dreaded human in the entire galaxy — although Leia wouldn’t ever call Emperor Palpatine a _human_.

“Thank you for the memorandum, Padmé.”

Padmé rubbed her eyes; if asked, she wouldn’t be able to tell where she wanted to go with that. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, Han is a good person. Not many men would go out of their way to talk to a room full of politicians and generals that most likely _hate_ him. He genuinely cherishes you, and isn’t afraid of making a fool of himself just to take care of you.”

Leia’s expression didn’t as much as flinch — was Padmé trying to step into her parents’ shoes and give her the love and sex talk that her _real_ parents hadn’t had the chance to give her? 

If so, that was _way_ out of line.

“I believe I know my own relationship better than you, Padmé.”

“Yes, I’d be worried if that weren’t true,” Padmé elaborated, “However, because you’re _inside_ the relationship, you often don’t see for yourself the things that an outsider would.”

“You don’t have to remind me that Han loves me,” Leia all but spat, “He’s already pretty transparent about it himself.”

“You’re not listening to what I’m saying, Leia,” Padmé sighed, at last sharing some of the irritation that her daughter was feeling at that moment.

“You’re not very interesting with this conversation, Padmé,” Leia mimicked her tone, although adding a spice of mockery to it.

“Alright. Perhaps I should be blunter, then,” Padmé prompted, “I don’t think you realize the depth of his worry for you. I think you’re so exhausted from your inner troubles that you fail to see that he’s _constantly_ gazing at you with worry, praying, _just_ praying that you won’t drift further away from him. And honestly, Leia, I can’t blame him for hovering.”

Throwing her head back, Leia suddenly learned it to be far more appealing to look at the random figures made of dust in the ceiling above them. “And I _think_ , Padmé, that you’ve been here for five minutes. You know _nothing_ of Han and I’s relationship.”

Pouting with her lips, Padmé decided to be bold — completely aware that she would pay the price for it afterward. “He told me about this himself.”

Except—Padmé became alarmed at Leia’s reaction. The princess threw her feet back to the floor and turned aside to shoot the mother eyes of fire; big and full of rage, threatening to burn everything that came in their way.

“ _No_. He wouldn’t betray me like that.” 

Padmé’s eyes were enlarged; she had quickly drafted every possible response that would come from Leia — _that_ hadn’t even come closer to her guessing. Above all, it did hurt a little to be considered the bane of everything bad in Leia’s life.

“He didn’t _betray_ you, Leia. All he’s ever done, ever since I’ve arrived here, is to express his concern for you.”

Leia turned back ahead, no longer standing to look at her, and leaned on her knees to whisper angrily to herself, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Padmé damned herself; this time, she had _really_ messed up. Of course, she had already messed up enough times as she tried to bond with the princess, but she had possibly just endangered the love relationship of her daughter. She knew Leia not to be in a good mindset at the moment, so if any outburst came to happen — it would be completely Padmé’s fault.

All because she had betrayed Han’s trust in her.

“I’m sorry, Leia,” she spoke from her heart, “I didn’t mean to—”

“I’ll thank you for being silent about matters that do not concern you,” Leia harshly cut her off, having hidden her every physical feature from the older woman.

Unfortunately for both of them, Padmé wasn’t the kind of person to be easily put in her place. “Something did concern me, though, earlier today. When we were rescuing Luke.”

Leia groaned loudly, _too_ loudly, and accused mercilessly, “There’s no way of shutting you up, is there? _Sith_ —you’re worse than Luke.”

What Leia wouldn’t be able to know was that Padmé took pride in being compared to Luke, _even_ if not in a good manner. “We had just found Luke when he pointed out that his lightsaber had been left behind. Although he was already preoccupied, Han was ready to drop Luke over me so he would go back into the room where all the bad had happened just so _you_ wouldn’t, even though you were the most capable of doing so, and Han looked like he was ready to kill me when I suggested you should go. Why did you think he reacted like that?”

“You’d have to ask him,” Leia replied coldly, disinterested, and only said that because she knew that Padmé wouldn’t dare to go to him after the blow she had just caused to their relationship.

“That wasn’t what bothered the most, though,” Padmé paced slowly and carefully. “Once you came back, you were… astray. Your face was paler than usual, your eyes were blank and you were absent from your surroundings until the end of the mission, until we arrived back in Coruscant and you left the privacy of yours and Han’s chamber.”

Unconsciously, Leia shivered, and her immediate reflex was to detach herself from the moment — she separated her mind from her body, so the bad memories wouldn’t reach her. She had acquired that ability while working in the Senate during her childhood, in order not to lose her patience or her _heart_ over the absurdities and the cruelty she would witness there. She remembered how dazzled her father had become when she told him of her technique, and now she wasn’t so sure whether that was something _everyone_ could do, or simply one of her innate powers as a Force sensitive person.

“You left me worried, Leia, and you left Han worried,” Padmé continued, once she was only met with silence. Maybe appealing to the emotional aspect hadn’t been her smartest move, but she was so anxious about the situation that she could no longer think strategically. 

“You are always worried,” was Leia’s only answer.

Padmé was about to place her hand on her back when the memories of the last time she had tried to touch the princess flourished through her mind. She backed away. “Maybe, but have you ever considered that we have _reason_ to be worried?”

“No,” Leia retorted, at last getting back on her feet. With one arm crossed over her chest, she had no idea why she still clung to that paper cup so tightly, or why she hadn’t simply thrown it away once Padmé started to get on her nerves, or _why_ , for the Force, she perceived a sense of _comfort_ from the fact that someone had bothered to pay her enough attention to learn what her favorite beverage was.

“There’s no need to be hostile, Leia,” Padmé said calmly, bringing her cup to her lips. “This is just a conversation. I’m not _interrogating_ you.”

Maybe, if Padmé had used any other words, Leia would have sustained her composure. Maybe, if Padmé hadn’t deceived the act of interrogating in such a ridiculing tone, Leia wouldn’t have felt shivers of anxiety rushing through her body. Maybe, _just maybe,_ if Padmé hadn't so explicitly stated that Leia wasn’t under interrogation, Leia wouldn’t have interpreted it as such. Maybe, if Padmé only kept pestering her, Leia wouldn’t have been sent back to her holding cell in the Death Star, where her captors had done everything but to simply interrogate her. Maybe, if Padmé had any respect for the terrors of the Civil War, Leia wouldn’t have lost all the strings to reality and all her working towards her recovery wouldn’t disappear just like that.

In a panic, Leia shut her eyes tightly, trying to scare the bad memories away, only to learn that she could no longer open them, and she was trapped inside the prison of her mind. She saw the interrogator droid, she heard its humming sound, just hovering in the air, threatening life with its mere existence — she could not think past her fear of the hurting it would bring her. She saw the needle, she felt it penetrating her skin, reaching the base of her spine where most of her nerves were hidden — she could not think past the agony and the anguish it brought her. She saw herself from outside, so small and vulnerable and scared in the rough metal bench — she could not think past the pain. She looked at her younger self with pity, so merciless under the tight grasp of the dark lord — she could not feel past the pain.

“Leia…?” Padmé called for her, carefully, frightenedly. She wasn’t sure of what had just happened; one minute, Leia was there, and then — she wasn’t. One minute, she was responsive, and the next, the cup of hot chocolate fell from her hands and spilled all over the floor, and its mess didn’t as much as alert Leia. If it weren’t for the wrinkles in her eyelids from the intensity that she had shut them or the speed of her chest rising and falling in silent breathing, Padmé wouldn’t be able to discern if she were still _alive_.

There was no response, and it was Padmé’s turn to panic. What the heck had happened? Leia had been _fine_ , hadn’t she? All things considered, Leia had been steady and coping, until Padmé had said or done something wrong — and she had no idea what had it been. She tried to think in her despair, she really did, but her mind was blank to all her possible mistakes.

Unsure of what to do — and already accepting that there wasn’t anything _right_ that she could do — Padmé dropped her espresso to the table and rushed to Leia. She cried the daughter’s name over and over again, _praying_ that Leia would respond, and the universe rejected her every prayer.

Until she could no longer stand her impotence and she harshly grabbed Leia by the shoulders, yanking her body brutally. The princess’ eyes blasted open and a loud gasp escaped her, like the first breath of fresh air after being underwater for far too long. With a string of her mind still clinging to her bad memories, Leia’s first instinct was to jerk herself away from the other’s woman touch, only to stumble back upon the realization of what she had done until her back hit the wall.

She felt quartered, and the only force threatening her was herself.

Padmé little cared for Leia’s immediate reaction; her heart only ached for the sight of the young woman in front of her and the knowledge that there was little, if anything, that she could do to help. It hurt even more when she tried to take one step forward and Leia desperately raised both her hands in the air in an urging stance.

“Please don’t touch me.”

Unintentionally, Padmé did the same with her hands, while nodding slowly and understanding. “I won’t, Leia. I won’t do anything that you don’t want me to.”

Which included remaining silent if Leia demanded her to. She would do it, regardless of how much she wanted to ask to know how to properly help the daughter.

“I just…” Leia tried, rubbing her fingers against her nose. Only then she realized her hands were still shaking, so she closed them in tight fists in attempts to steady her posture. “I wasn’t—I’m _not_ in a good place.”

Padmé was slightly surprised, as that had been the first time Leia confirmed she wasn’t doing _as well_ as she constantly claimed to be. It was the first step of a long road, and Padmé wanted nothing more than to tell her how proud she was. She didn’t.

“What happened, Leia?”

Her question had been vague; it was unclear whether she wanted to know about what had happened _in the war_ or the past minutes. The ambiguity did not fail Leia; however, to the princess, it made no difference.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Which, of course, was the answer that Padmé had expected, but hearing it, rather than dreading it, only added to the mother’s uneasiness. “Alright. What would you like to do? Is there any way I can help?”

Leia buried her face in her hands, using the wall behind her for support so she wouldn’t fall. Unable to provide an answer, she chose to remain silent.

Crossing her arms, Padmé braved herself to make the one offer she would hate to follow through; if it came to it, though, she would do it, and leave her entire heart behind with Leia, hoping it would make a difference. 

“Would you like to be alone?”

“No…!” Leia instinctively urged, and thought herself pathetic for her hypocrisy. Her mind hadn’t even processed the question before her lips spoke ahead, and that wasn’t _her_. Nothing about that evening seemed right. 

Padmé was taken aback; she had expected her request to be accepted or politely declined, but she would never foresee that Leia would so heartfeltly beg for her presence. _Nothing_ about that evening was right.

Leia lowered her arms, trying to look steady, unsure whether she had at least remotely succeeded. “It’s just… When you’re here, I… I see you, and I remember how annoyed you make me be, and… and that distracts me. Your annoyance grounds me, it reminds me that I’m here, safe, and not… _there_.”

Unsure of how to properly react, Padmé stared at her wide-eyed, until she could no longer hold herself back and did the most insane thing — she laughed. In her most composed self, but she did; she carefree laughed, slightly shaking her head sideways. To her relief, Leia joined her, although it barely consisted of a chuckle. But it was _there_.

Padmé never thought she’d hear that she was annoying in a _useful_ way; every new day here brought a new wonder from the twins. No matter how badly their situations were, they constantly delighted and amazed her, leaving her to imagine all the wonders she had missed by being away from them for too long.

“I’m glad my annoyance has finally paid off.”

Leia smirked silently and was surprised to see Padmé drop to the floor beneath her, in the clumsiest sitting position, exactly five feet away from where the princess stood. For the first time since her mother’s arrival, Leia understood — Padmé annoyed her in the same way that Han used to, in the first years of their acquaintance. Gracefully, Leia realized: she could accept that. She could _live_ with that. She would be driven insane, sure, but it was still better than having no one there to annoy her, to remind her that she was _alive_.

That simple recognition drove Leia to sink herself to the floor, too. It was just the two of them, and she allowed the tomboy inside of her to speak louder than the princess.

“Thank you,” Leia said softly, looking down to a random spot between her legs spread widely apart. Between the two women was the mess of the spilled hot chocolate, filling the room with its sweet smell. 

“No need to thank me,” Padmé waved it off, “I promised you I’d be here for you, whenever you needed, and that doesn’t change simply because we are tearing each other’s head off. A promise is a promise.”

Pursuing her lips in a shy smile, Leia agreed. Still glancing down, she focused on the sound of Padmé’s breathing next to her and started to draw imaginary lines in the ground. Anything to silence the noise in her head.

* * *

Neither of them was certain of how much had passed when the medical droid finally came to them. Padmé’s back was starting to ache, for being sat at the floor without a place to lean on — which provided her with the sad realization that she was getting _old_ — meanwhile, Leia remained perfectly still against the wall, her eyes alerted to the environment while trying to sustain the peace within herself.

The whirring of the droid cut sharply through her silence, and Padmé quickly threw herself onto her feet, while Leia only looked up. 

“How is he? Is he okay?”

“Mr. Skywalker is fine,” it said, politely, not wasting any time. “The injury in his leg is completely healed, and the cut in his forehead is no more than that, a cut. He will be proud to tell stories about how he got the scar to his children.”

Leia unconsciously grimaced, mumbling to herself, “As if I won’t kill him first for being too dumb to get that stupid scar.”

Padmé made a gesture with her hand to silence the princess. “Is he awake?”

“He was given a sedative,” it explained, “He is not expected to regain consciousness for the next couple of hours. His full recovery resides on his rest.”

“Of course,” the mother replied, “Are we allowed to see him?”

“By all means,” the droid conceded, stepping aside to make way to the medical ward. Rather than rushing straight ahead, as she surely wanted to, Padmé extended her arm to Leia and helped her stand — although come to think about it, it should have been the other way around.

Once certain that the daughter was following behind, Padmé headed inside with rapid steps. Every second away from Luke was another second of agony and torture. She had been told he was alright, sure, but some things needed to be seen with the eyes.

Unfortunately, she had learned that the hard way. Once upon a time, too many moons before, she had been told that her child had died, and she accepted it without any judgment. Her err had led to a life away from her children, and she would often whisper to herself — _no more_.

When the sight of Luke entered her field of vision, lying still in a not so comfortable and too small bed, Padmé ran to his side. He looked peaceful, he resembled serene in his slumber, free of pain, and that knowledge came to her as a relief. She took the only seat available next to the bunk and settled on it, giving herself the perfect position to run her fingers through his hair.

If she closed her eyes, she would enter a dream where Luke was no more than a child, and she was tugging him to bed while singing sweet lullabies. If she didn’t fear too much the hurting of a memory from something she’d never have, she would have allowed herself to close them.

Leia, at last, came inside and followed straight to the empty bunk next to Luke’s. She sat there and crossed both her legs in front of her. For the time being, she allowed herself to simply watch a mother lovingly caring for her son, reminiscing with sorrow all the times that Queen Breha had looked after her just like that.

“He’s alright, Leia,” Padmé nearly cried in joy.

Leia nodded with her lips pressed together. “I’m glad he is.”

Padmé gave her a dirty look, “Are you genuinely glad he’s alright, or are you simply happy that they didn’t get to kill him so you can do it yourself?”

The princess chuckled. “Right now, I’m glad he’s okay. But ask me again in a few hours.”

Disapprovingly, Padmé shook her head, although there was a faint smile in her face.

And then, just like that, she became serious again.

“Leia,” she called in a harsh tone, “I hope you’re aware that I will _never_ choose between you and your brother.”

For the longest of times, Leia simply stared at her blankly, before snapping, “ _What_.”

“I’m just saying,” Padmé carried on, still unconsciously intertwining her fingers around Luke’s golden locks of hair, “Earlier today when Luke disappeared without a single trace. I forced you to search within yourself to find him, _even_ when I knew you weren’t ready for that, that it would all but _break_ you. For that, I would like to apologize.”

Leia chose to remain silent. Whether Padmé had earned her forgiveness, she would most likely _never_ know.

Because — although Leia would never willingly admit it, especially to _her_ — it had been brutal, it had been raw, it had stolen her breath away. It had _terrified_ her, and she was _certain_ she would never touch that power again.

Noting that Leia wouldn’t speak so soon, Padmé cleared her throat, “I guess what I’m trying to say is, if the circumstances were reversed, I would do the same to Luke. I’d do everything in my power, and in the power of those I knew, to get you back.”

Instead of acknowledging her point, Leia said bluntly, “You don’t have to worry. I’m not stupid, I won’t ever do anything of the sort.”

She seemed awfully convinced, and perhaps that was true — Padmé hadn’t the means to ascertain the veracity, she didn’t know Leia to that extent. In a way, Leia reminded Padmé of herself, of her younger self, closed to the rest of the world, so compromised to her duty. Padmé felt sorry for her; she remembered all too well the loneliness of her young days, and how desolate it was to have no one know who she truly was. She hoped, she really did, that Leia could show glimpses of herself to Han and Luke at least.

To Padmé, that person had been Anakin. Nobody knew her as Anakin once did.

“But _if_ you do, bear in my mind that I’ll break down the walls of hell to bring you back home.”

Once again, Leia only stared at her, as if waiting for something to happen. Once again, nothing did.

Padmé sighed, at last leaning back on her seat. The small, uncomfortable chair welcomed her warmly, and — Padmé finally allowed herself to ascertain how tired she was. In her exhaustion, her mind began to drift away.

“Why?”

Leia asked her abruptly, so harshly, that it gave the mother a good startle. All but mimicking the princess, Padmé gazed intensively at her, _waiting_ for a more detailed inquiry to come, and when it didn’t, she was obliged to ask, “Why, what?”

Leia began to play with her hands over her lap, scratching her skin with sharp nails. Only Padmé’s notion of her unquietness made her stop. “Why wouldn’t you choose Luke over me?”

Padmé almost choked on her breath. “Are you serious—”

“ _Why_ wouldn’t you choose Luke over me?”

With wide eyes, the retired Queen understood there was no alternative than to answer the question — the only challenge would be not losing her patience while doing so. Coming to think about it, she was starting to share the same annoyance that Leia felt towards her.

“You’re _both_ my children. I felt you both alive inside of me, and I evenly bonded with your lives in my womb. I don’t have a favorite child, I will never have. My love for you is equal.”

“I thought you weren’t aware that you were expecting twins.”

Padmé drew in a long breath, while a quick flash of what motherhood with a witty, child Leia would have been like flashed through her mind. Under any other circumstances, she would have laughed at the image in her mind of a very obedient Luke watching in both awe and terror as mother and daughter continuously outspoke one another. 

“Will you listen to what I’m _saying,_ rather than what I’m saying?” Padmé allowed her lack of patience to speak on her behalf, and it was too late to take it back.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

Closing her eyes for an instinct, she conceded. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

Not delving too deep into it, Leia began to undo the crown braid around her head by removing the first pins. She was just noticing the small ache in the back of her head and decided to free her hair in an attempt to alleviate the soreness. “Anyway, I very much doubt it.”

Sighing relentlessly, Padmé gave up. “Doubt what?”

“That you wouldn’t choose Luke over me.”

“Leia—”

“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing,” Leia explained, the first locks of hair falling freely over her shoulder. “It’s _reasonable,_ really.”

Padmé chewed on her inner cheeks — was _she_ starting to have a headache? “And why is that, Leia?”

“Well,” a little surprised that Padmé couldn’t see it for herself, Leia made it her responsibility to enlighten her, “Luke _is_ your son. He’s kind, he’s loving, he’s accepting, he idolizes you. You’re everything to him. You share a greater bond with him, and a _beautiful_ bond it is. It is completely rational that, if it came to it, you would choose Luke over me, and that’s okay! You don’t have to feel guilty about it, because I _understand_.”

 _Bullshit,_ Padmé screamed in her head, only keeping it to herself because she _really_ wasn’t in the mood to pick up a fight, or even start the most civilized argument.

“At least you recognize that you’re not kind or loving to me.”

Leia merely shrugged, dropping yet another pin down to the pile over the bed. 

“You’re not my mother.”

Sadly, Padmé agreed. No matter how many times she would hear it, the allegation always came to her like a blow to the heart.

“It’s a good thing, then, that I’ll never have to choose between you,” Padmé speculated, watching with interest as Leia’s hair came down. Thinking about it, she didn’t recall a single time where she had seen Leia wearing her hair down, and perhaps undoing it in front of others meant deep intimacy in Alderaanian culture. If so, Padmé was honored — she made a mental note to look up Alderaan’s hair tradition. Maybe Han would know so.

“You sound quite certain about that,” Leia snorted carefully.

“Well, the odds of something happening to the both of you simultaneously is so small—”

“Odds exist to be broken,” she spoke lowly, the last stranded lock of hair falling down her shoulders. With her fingers, she began to untangle the knots. “There are so many planets in the galaxy, _so many._ If you think about it, the odds of the Empire blowing up _your_ home planet are practically nonexistent, until you watch your home planet become dust with your own eyes. Don’t ever rely on odds, Padmé, because odds don’t _exist_.”

Padmé swallowed roughly, eyes a little startled with whatever she had meant. Had she witnessed the destruction of Alderaan beforehand? Had they _forced_ her to watch? Those possibilities alone made her heart thunder faster; had she been in Leia's place, having to watch Naboo be destroyed alongside everything she ever knew, she didn’t know if she would ever be able to stand again.

However, she _did_ know that it was best to leave it aside. Trying to get Leia to talk about it would only generate discord, and neither of them wanted that. 

Leia seemingly ignored her own comment, looking to her hands as she worked on her hair: dividing the hair into three parts and starting to craft a ponytail from the middle of her head. Her fingers operated mechanically as she started to give life to a braid that would fall without restriction down to her back.

Padmé watched with curiosity as the young girl braided her hair, thinking about how Queen Breha Organa must have taught her all those hairstyles during Leia’s youth. Funnily enough, that notion didn’t bring her jealousy, nor fury. Instead, it brought her peace, knowing that Leia must have had a strong, passionate woman figure to look up to. It brought her serenity, knowing that Leia was always loved and looked after during her life.

A few minutes later, Leia finished, and she allowed her braid to fall over her left shoulder. Padmé waited for her to say anything, to do anything, but the princess remained perfectly still, with eyes gazing nowhere at all while her mind started to flow away.

“You should try and get some sleep, Leia.”

She sighed exaggeratedly at the suggestion as she was pulled back from the nice dream she was having. “Can’t.”

Padmé frowned, “Why not?”

“Because any time now,” Leia pointed to the door, “Somebody is going to come through there, telling me that Han is being held and they won’t let him go until I go there myself and start giving the explanations that Han most likely couldn’t give himself.”

Leia sounded so exasperated with that idea that Padmé let out a shy chuckle. “Han was a _smuggler,_ I’m pretty sure he’s been ‘held’ before,” she gestured quotation marks with her hands, “And this time, he should consider himself lucky to be held by the good people.”

Leia snorted; it was a _good_ point. “Still, I don’t want him waiting on my behalf.”

“Leia, if there’s one thing that I can assure you of is that he doesn’t _mind_ ,” Padmé tried to illustrate, “If he did, he wouldn’t have gone in the first place.”

This time, Leia exhaled tiredly, “Maybe, but—”

“Tell you what,” she interfered before Leia had the chance to form an argument, “There’s a perfectly fine bed underneath you, one that you’re _wasting_ away. Right now, it’s,” she looked at the clock in the wall, “A little past five in the morning. _If_ somebody comes for you, I’ll send them on their way, telling them that you’ll present yourself to the High Council at, let’s say, 8 AM pronto.”

Leia looked at her with intrigue, her eyebrows arched. “You’ll wake me up?”

“Yes, I will.”

“You _promise_ that you will?”

“Yes, Leia, you have my word.”

“Even if they don’t come? Promise me you will wake me up in two hours, _even_ if they don’t come.”

Padmé might not have been that good in math, but she wasn’t a fool. “I said for three hours.”

“No, you said I’d be there at eight sharp,” Leia pointed out, “I need to get ready. I can’t get up and present myself there while wearing Han’s _shirt_.”

“Can’t you?” Padmé teased, “That would be a way to scandalize them. This place is missing a few scandals.”

“Padmé, no!” Leia seemed horrified, “It’ll only end badly. They’re still under the impression that Han hasn’t corrupted me.”

At loss, Padmé frowned, “Corrupted you?!”

Leia gave her a glare, a very intimate and female glare, and the realization caused Padmé’s cheeks to burn like fire.

“Well, has he?” Padmé asked on a whim and felt like crawling into a hole and _dying_ once she heard her own question out loud. “No, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

Leia made a teasing face, “I wouldn’t use the word _corrupted,_ but we’ve definitely—”

“No…!” Padmé raised her hands to cover her years, “I don’t want to know!”

Snorting, Leia simply shook her head sideways, amazed at how embarrassed the other woman had become. She wondered how her father would react to such a revelation, and concluded that Padmé didn’t do him _justice._ She smiled sadly to herself, thinking of yet another mundane thing that had been stolen from her.

“Come on, Padmé, I refuse to believe you were a prude, back in the days,” Leia incited, and the more she talked, the redder the mother became.

All things considered, Padmé definitely wasn’t going to start talking about her _sex life_ to her daughter. Deciding that evading the comment was the best course of action, she said, “Why would the Council even care about… _that_? It’s none of their business.”

“They feel like it is,” Leia shuddered, “After Alderaan, they got stuck with a teenage princess with nowhere to go. They thought of me as their responsibility, that I was the prize of war that they didn’t ask for. Then, I became their political asset, I became their pawn. And I’m _sure_ that the political marriage of the last princess of Alderaan would be very beneficial for the New Republic.”

Padmé breathed heavily, understanding very well that they most likely did see her as such and had all sorts of plans for _her_ future, and it made her sick to her stomach. Strategically, she understood, but the human part of her — she found it disgusting. It was war, everybody had the right to sacrifice their lives for the cause and the ideals they believed in; however, nobody should have the power to sacrifice somebody else’s life for the cause.

“You’re not a piece of meat. You’re not… merchantable, Leia.”

Politely, Leia pointed with her head. “I know that, Padmé.”

Maybe a little too comfortable with their environment, Padmé extended her legs to the edge of Luke’s bed — heck, he wouldn’t mind, he wasn’t _awake_ to mind. She rested her hands over her belly, finding the perfect position to relax, and returned her attention to the second woman in the room.

“Would you? Marry someone for political gain?”

Leia shot both her brows up, “Would you?”

“Probably not,” Padmé confessed, “Then again, I never _had_ to. As a Queen, I was only a child, and Naboo elects their Monarchs, so I’d never had to carry the burden of providing my planet a suitable heir. And as a Senator—well, Senators’ love lives only exist for scrutiny and scandals. There isn’t a social demand around it. I like to believe I’d always choose love over politics, though, no matter the circumstances.”

Leia nodded, starting to get a little more comfortable and casual over the thin mattress, although she remained seated. “I’ve always wondered that. Growing up, I always felt that the obligation of marrying respectfully laid on my shoulders, but my parents never demanded it from me. My parents married for _love,_ and they always made sure that I knew as much. I guess that’s what they would want for me. I don’t know, they died before I got the chance to ask.”

Padmé smiled sadly. “What about now? Now that Alderaan is gone, do you feel that’s an obligation you should keep?”

“I have no idea,” Leia said honestly, with a small chuckle, “There are no more traditions to answer to, I just have yet to determine if that’s a good thing or not.”

The queen remained silent, waiting for Leia to sort her thoughts. 

“Today, the woman that I am today, that the war has made me become…” she spoke with a low voice, her eyes suddenly looking down to the floor, “I don’t think I would be able to lie with anyone who didn’t have my complete trust.”

Padmé felt tingles of anticipation running through her legs. Sometimes, Leia would say things that couldn’t be implied without the full context of the war, and in those moments, Padmé dreaded to ask for the framework. Because her mind always strayed towards the darkest scenarios, and she was terrified that one of them just _might_ come true.

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I know,” Leia simply conceded. Feeling her bones start to weigh more than the usual, she, at last, allowed herself to lie down. Her back against the mattress, one arm under head, the other resting over her womb; not in a position of someone who might finally succumb themself to sleep, but in a stance that kept her stare fixated in the ceiling as her mind wandered through every little thing.

From afar, Padmé simply watched her, still having the perfect view of her body language and her expression.

“Han is the only person I’ve ever been with,” Leia confessed with a small voice, unsure of what had been her reasons to admit that. She wasn’t ashamed of it, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had revealed something so intimate and personal, especially to a woman she had just met. “I guess I am a prude, after all.”

If Padmé had to choose a word for her reaction at the suddenness of Leia’s confidence, bewilderment came close to it. Despite how explicit she had been about her unwillingness to talk about Leia’s private life, the princess still dared to bring it up, and — by the Sith, she _really_ was stupid. 

Hadn’t she come back with the only intention of being their mother? And her main task as the mother of grown-up twins was to guide them, no matter how uncomfortable it might feel. She realized with a heavy heart that _that_ was the guidance Leia needed the most, considering that she had been too young when Alderaan met its fate, and she never got to ask her mother the questions that haunted her mind as she fell in love with Han, perhaps even now.

Padmé pushed all her discomfort aside, and, for the first time since her arrival, she sensed that her return was serving a purpose.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Leia,” Padmé assured, “Don’t compare yourself to other people, because everybody has their own tempo.”

“There’s not much to compare to, if you haven’t noticed the lack of female presence around,” Leia joked, although every word she said had been accurate.

“Then what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing,” she stated, her voice firm as a rock.

Padmé waited — her motherly instinct told her that that wasn’t the end. Not yet.

Leia pressed her teeth hard into the flesh of her inner lip, flashes of her life passing right before her eyes. Those memories only gave her more conviction to say, “Han is the only person I’ll ever be with.”

Twenty years before, Padmé would have found only warmth in her assertion. Now, after acquiring the unwished-for wisdom of too many heartbreaks, she considered it a troublesome thought. 

“You shouldn’t rely yourself too strongly on that idea, Leia,” she carefully warned, “After all, you were the one just telling me that odds exist to be defeated.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” Leia corrected without a fuss, “I’m well aware of the possibility that the day that I lose Han to death might come too soon, or that we might simply part as our relationship ceases to be healthy. I’m simply stating, no matter what happens, Han remains the only person I’ll ever be with.”

Padmé watched attentively how her muscles tensed at her assertion, and how her chest all but stopped breathing. In return, her own breathing sped up, and she braced herself. She _had_ to ask, she needed to know. The question was on the tip of her tongue—

“Padmé?”

Padmé let out all the burden that had been piling up inside her through a single exhale, and she wondered, deep down, whether she was relieved for the interruption.

“Yes, Leia?”

“Do you think we’ll ever be friends?”

The question struck like a lightning, leaving Padmé tense in her seat. “Do you want to…? Be friends?”

“I don’t know,” Leia admitted shyly. “I don’t have any friends here.”

Padmé swallowed the lump in her throat roughly, her heart thudding a tad faster inside her chest. “That’s not true. You have Luke and Han.”

“One is my brother, the other is my beau,” Leia shook her head relentlessly. “Most of all, they’re both _men_.”

Her tone made it seem that she was disgusted at that single aspect, and it made Padmé laugh.

“Sometimes, all I want is a company free of testosterone,” Leia spoke very seriously, although there was a hint of mockery behind her voice. “The nearest woman in my reach is Mon Mothma, and I _really_ don’t feel comfortable going to her with questions about sex.”

Another giggle. “She wouldn’t mind.”

“I know!” Leia threw both her hands up in repudiation, “Which would only add to my embarrassment of being there.”

Uncertain of her motives, Padmé jumped back on her feet. The suddenness of her action caught Leia off guard, who stared at her intensely as she dragged her chair around Luke’s bed and placed it between the two cots, this time taking her seat closer to Leia.

“Well, I’m here. If you have any questions.”

Leia smiled with her lips closed as she turned to lie on her side, facing Padmé completely. “We’re not there yet.”

“I know,” Padmé agreed, “All I’m saying is, the offer is here. Whenever you want, regardless of where in our relationship we might be.”

Leia closed her eyes and didn’t open them again. “Thank you, Padmé.”

She simply nodded, although the princess couldn’t see it, and they both boarded a comfortable silence. Padmé remained there, lost in her maze of thoughts, until Leia fell asleep — which didn’t take long — and Padmé knew as much because she shared the peace and rhythm of her brother’s breathing next to her.

Getting up, Padmé followed to the cabinet in the corner of the room and retrieved a blanket from there.

In her mind, she walked to her child’s bed and carefully placed the cover over her, protecting her from the chill of the night. She bent down and tenderly kissed the child’s forehead, whispering words of love as she retreated.

Sometimes, dreams were more pleasing than reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do consider leaving a comment, since your support encourages me to keep writing this story :)


	19. Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for all the feedback!
> 
> i think this is the longest chapter so far, and i hope it won't disappoint

When Luke opened his eyes, the brightness hurt his vision.

He took his time to sense his surroundings for his whereabouts. His memory was blurry, the events of the previous night a haze to his mind that he wasn’t sure he wanted to revisit, although he  _ knew  _ it was bound to haunt him eventually. But not at that moment, where silence reigned and peace prevailed.

Peace. Only peace. He couldn’t remember the last time in his life he felt so serene, with only harmony surrounding him.

He liked that. He  _ missed  _ that, not having to carry the burden of the entire galaxy on his shoulders, even if for just a second.

Idly, he yawned, feeling well-rested and ready to fight hundreds of stormtroopers without getting tired. Luke stretched his arms widely, intending to free his body of the last strains of sleep, only to hit his arm on something— _ someone _ —and realize he wasn’t alone.

A little bit surprised, he looked to his side and found his mother sleeping next to him, seated on a chair while she laid her head over the edge of the mattress of the bed he was in, using her arm as a pillow. He frowned lightly — how long had they been there? Because that  _ couldn’t  _ be a comfortable position to sleep in.

He decided to extend his visual search further into the room, and he found Leia sleeping in the cot next to his. His day just kept getting  _ weirder. _ His sister enjoying her slumber when the sun was already up and running?  _ That  _ was something, and he would make sure to tease her about it afterward.

_ No, he wouldn’t;  _ as the memories came back to him and he realized, she was there because of  _ him.  _ Because he’d had an existential crisis, and got himself into trouble, and thanks to this lack of thinking, he had sent his family on a goose chase after him.

He felt guilty for his actions, he felt guilty for what he had put them through. And yet, despite his deeds, his family was there with him,  _ for  _ him, waiting to learn if he was alright.  _ Leia _ was there, regardless of how infuriated she had been with him the previous night — and, honestly, he couldn’t blame her. 

Luke had no idea how to start making amends for his mistakes, especially with his sister. He didn’t doubt there would be a lot of shouting and lecturing from her end the moment she woke up, and he wasn’t certain he would be able to hear everything she had to say without breaking down himself.

Because, truth be told, his heart was still hurting. For the same reasons it had been the previous night.

His edginess became too apparent, and Padmé slowly regained her consciousness. Her first effort upon waking up was grimacing at the soreness her body had just undergone, after many unknown hours of sleeping in the worst possible position. She repressed a yawn — because those many unknown hours of uncomfortable slumber added to the anguishes of the previous night proved quite incapable of providing her the rest she required — and finally dared to look sideways.

She was caught a little off guard to find a set of piercing blue eyes staring intensely at her. She was thrown to the past and saw Jedi Anakin’s eyes glancing at her for the first time in years after they had met in Tatooine when they were both only children — those eyes that sparkled with life, yet held an indescribable fear for the things that they did not know, that had yet to come. 

“Mother.”

His voice brought her back to the present, and she let out a single sight, before allowing herself to delve into a warm smile. “Luke. I’m so relieved you are alright.”

He mimicked her facial expression with an awkward smile. “Yes, I am. All thanks to you, of course.”

Unable to restrain herself, Padmé pulled him into a hug — his head close to her heart, her arms strongly holding him by the neck, her nose smelling the scent of his hair. She would remain there forever, if she could, certifying that he was safe and alive.

“I’m fine, mother,” Luke mumbled when he started to feel a little suffocated, his voice muffled by the fabric of her blouse, “ _ Really _ .”

Reluctantly, Padmé let go. She settled herself back into the chair, a little more assured of his well being after she had felt him for herself. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to smother you. I was simply  _ so worried  _ last night.”

“I should be the one apologizing,” Luke spoke softly, both in shame and dreading to awake the sister next to him. He’d like to fix his mistakes to one person at a time. “What I did… It was stupid, really stupid.”

Padmé gave him a stern look. “Yeah. We still need to talk about that.”

His cheeks blushed, and the inner child inside him wanted to disappear. He became very small in his bed, his hands anxiously playing with the blanket over him. “I know. I understand that I need to redeem myself, but I have no idea how to do this, because I understand the hurt that I’ve caused you.”

At that moment, Padmé could see Anakin’s dramatics perfectly in the son’s personality. It was almost laughable. “Come on now, there’s no need to exaggerate. You haven’t committed a crime, after all.”

Luke anxiously chewed on his cheeks — hadn’t he? Hadn’t he actively fought in the war that killed thousands of innocent people? 

“Leia surely looked at me as if I did.”

Instinctively, Padmé glanced behind to check on the daughter; Leia was still sound asleep next to them, curled up in a fetal position, the blanket that Padmé had caringly placed over her after she fell asleep now all tangled up around her torso and leaving her legs bare. She sighed in relief at the notion that the princess hadn’t been disturbed.

“I’m not Leia. I can’t speak from Leia’s perspective, only from mine.”

Luke wrinkled his nose. “You have a motherly perspective. I’m not sure that’s any better.”

Padmé scoffed lightly.

“I can’t say that I will go easy on you, because I won’t ever lie to you,” she said, “You gave us quite a fright yesterday. Luke, when we couldn’t find you, I was certain I would never see you again, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared.”

He swallowed roughly, looking down in embarrassment.

“You’re here now, safe and sound, and that’s what matters. We’ve got you back, because you’re so blessed to have a sister who will march into hell if it means getting you back, and I hope this will serve you as a lesson that you’re not alone. You’re not alone, Luke…!”

His tears started gathering sooner than he had anticipated. “I know that, mother. I have you and Leia and Han and… I have  _ people _ . I don’t know what compelled my reasons last night.”

Understanding him to be going through an inner battle that she wasn’t aware of, Padmé bent forward to find his hand. “All I’m saying is if you feel like doing something reckless, then at least let someone know. So I won’t wake up in the middle of the night again with your sister pounding against my door, ready to commit murder with her bare hands.”

Luke laughed shyly at that image. He had no problem depicting Leia going feral once she couldn’t find him. “She is ready to kill me, isn’t it?”

Padmé snorted, “If I were you, I wouldn’t try to get on her nerves anytime so soon.”

“That’s easier said than done,” he cried, “ _ Anything  _ gets on Leia’s nerves.”

Unlike his expectations, the mother didn’t find his remark amusing. “You’re in no place to pester your sister, Luke, not after everything she did for you last night.”

This time, Luke wanted to crawl into a hole and hide there forever. Although he had meant it in good faith, that he had never intended to dismiss his sister, he understood that his actions had lost him the right to teasing comments until he had made amends with Leia. It didn’t surprise him that, for the first time since they had met, Padmé had taken Leia’s side over his — however, it did make him feel a little sad for having lost the high ground with their mother. 

“I’m sorry. I would never purposefully say anything to hurt Leia.”

“I know, Luke,” Padmé sighed, tiredly running her hand through her hair and double-checking the sleeping princess once again. She hadn’t flinched. 

“How did you find me, again?” he asked with a frown. “You’ve said that Leia did, but I guess that doesn’t really make sense to me. She has never willingly touched the Force before, I don’t understand how she would be able to find me just like that.”

“It wasn’t  _ just like that _ ,” she quoted his words. “Luke, you weren’t there. You had no idea how brutal it was for Leia to search her feelings for your presence, how brutal it was to watch her nearly losing herself in the process. Now, I never allowed her to quit, or even to take a break, as unnerving as it was to see her like that, as much as I  _ knew  _ that she needed a pause to breathe, and for that, I still need to beg her for forgiveness, for disregarding her well-being so blatantly, but I genuinely thought I was going to lose you both. You, for your stupidity. Her, for her unwillingness to give up on you.”

This time, it was Luke’s turn to glimpse at his sister, as another wave of bare guilt washed over him. Reaching out for her, he searched for her feelings, to understand her state of spirit, and — surprisingly, he found nothing. There was no darkness, no light, no nightmares, no dreams. There was no turmoil, there was no peace. She was simply asleep.

“Do you think she’ll forgive me?”

Padmé offered him her sad eyes. “She already has, Luke. She wouldn’t still be here otherwise.”

Luke breathed out heavily. “She doesn’t forgive easily.”

Padmé frowned at his remark, and she never thought she would have to remind  _ him  _ of that, “You’re not Vader, Luke.”

She was met with complete silence and judged it wiser to leave it like that. Whatever battle Luke was facing inside of him, he still wasn’t ready to disclose it. Until he fought his own demons, there was no point in pressing him, and Padmé would patiently wait until he was ready to come to her. 

In his quietude, as his mind worked around his issues, Padmé extended her eyes to the clock against the wall. She checked the time, accepted it, and lazily began to stretch in her seat — until it hit her, and panic boiled through her veins.

“Oh no,” she gasped, her body suddenly tense and unsure of how to proceed next. “Shit, shit, shit, shit—”

He wouldn’t say that his ears bled from the sound of his mother swearing, but they came close to. He didn’t waste his worry on that but on her sudden body language and Force imprint.

“Padmé, what is it?”

She didn’t process how from the chair she suddenly found herself on her feet, a few feet away from both their beds, biting on her nails nervously as she stared at Leia’s sleeping form in utter despair.

“Mother!”

She harshly gestured with her arm to keep him quiet, and essentially stopped breathing when Leia let out a prolonged sigh. Only when she made sure that the daughter remained asleep that she found part of her calm again.

“I was supposed to wake Leia up,” she said as slowly as possible, “About three hours ago.”

Luke unconsciously raised both his hands to his mouth, and Padmé didn’t have to be a genius to know that he was trying to hold his laughter. “You’re in trouble.”

“I know…!” she yelled a hushed scream. 

“She’s going to kill you.”

“ _ I know _ .”

For the longest time, she simply remained there, trying to come up with a plan or at least an excuse — it was already so late that a few extra minutes would barely make a difference. Mentally, she was directing every curse word that she was aware of at herself; she and Leia had come such a  _ long  _ way, they had genuinely bonded last night, and she had just thrown every effort out by failing to keep the one promise that Leia had asked of her. It had all been in vain.

“You need to do something,” Luke instructed, “You’re only avoiding the inevitable.”

She grimaced in pain, her fists clenched hardly next to her thighs. “Can you… Can you do it? She’ll be less mad if she sees you.”

“Are you kidding me? She sees me first, and her very first thought will be a well-articulated plan on how to kill me in my sleep,” Luke argued, stretching his arms behind his head. “I’m terribly sorry, mother, but I have no alternative than to use you as a human shield for the time being.”

Padmé understood — she did, after all, it had been her own messing up, and wasn’t she just rambling to Luke about the importance of owning up to one’s mistake? She absolutely hated it when her own wisdom turned against herself. 

Although she knew what she had to do, she remained still.

As time went by, Luke began to feel sorry for her, and for how she looked like she would start crying tears of despair at any minute now. He braced himself and pulled the blanket away from his legs, legs that immediately after made their way to the floor. He felt the cold ground with his bare feet, wrinkling his toes a few times before finally standing up.

He waited briefly for the pain of the wound in his leg to kick in — and when it didn’t, he gave himself a tilted nod of approval. He found a pair of clean clothes neatly folded in the balcony, alongside his worn black boots, and excused himself for one extra minute to go into the bathroom and change. 

When he returned, he was slightly amused to finding Padmé two steps closer to Leia, but still lacking the courage to do anything. The Jedi walked up to her, gave her a soft kiss to the top of her head, and whispered gently, “I’ve got this.”

Carefully, Luke approached his sister and sat down by the edge of the hard mattress. Leia shifted in the slightest, and when she provided no other sign of awareness, he placed his hand over her shoulder and rubbed it gently, before finally shaking her awake.

“Leia.”

Leia shot her eyes wide open in alert as she abruptly came back to consciousness. Her head was heavy — she hadn’t realized how tired she had been, and how profoundly her exhaustion had made her sleep for the past few hours. 

She was awake now, and her first notion was the brightness of the sun coming through the transparent window. She grimaced.

There was a presence next to her, and having kicked the last of the slumber away from her system, she forced herself into a sitting position. She found her brother there, with his hands clenched in front of him as he stared ahead of him, a faint smile in the corner of his lips.

“Luke.”

Leia was so alleviated to see him, all right and breathing in front of her, that all her accumulated anger ceased to exist. The previous night came close to one of the worst days of her life — that title was reserved for very few unspecial days, and it was nearly impossible to beat them, although she wouldn’t put it past the universe for trying. The previous night felt like a vision straight out of her nightmares, and the image of him alive in front of her was a relief.

“Hi,” he replied awkwardly, shyly glancing at her for seconds at a time, since he kept deflecting staring at her blackhole eyes for too long.

“Hey,” she casually met his awkwardness, and it retrieved a soft chuckle from him. She knew her heart to be beating at the same rhythm as his; she knew, because only their familiarity in the Force made her feel this calm.

Unable to hold herself back — and quite unsure as to what got into her — Leia jumped into his arms and hugged him tightly. She closed her eyes, focusing strongly on his presence there and erasing all the anguishes of the night before; he was  _ there,  _ solid as a rock, and that was the only guarantee she would ever need.

Luke embraced her back, surprised that she had welcomed him so warmly. Perhaps, Padmé had been right — everything was already forgotten and forgiven. That presentment was all it took him to tighten his hold over her, relieved to be feeling her presence both in the Force and there, right next to him.

“I’m alright, Leia. I promise,” he assured, feeling her nod over his shoulder in return.

In the back, Padmé simply smiled, content to be forgotten as the twins forged their sacred bound.

Once all her worries had been set aside, Leia broke their link, pulling back enough to share a shy grin with him. That grin, however, only lasted long enough for him to remember that she loved him, always and above all.

Her face quickly fell as she merciless raised her hand in the air and gave him a slap across the face. The sound of her palm against his skin was as sharp as a whip, and it brought several layers of unspoken tension to the air. It hadn’t even been a hard slap, but its significance spoke louder than any prospect of physical pain, and Leia knew that would hurt him more.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Okay, I guess I deserved that,” Luke mumbled, his hand pressed against his burning cheek. He barely had the time to process her deed before she got on her feet and started to walk away.

Leia made sure to stop by Padmé and her horrified expression, to give her a glare and a remarkable roll of her eyes in appreciation of the promise that had not been fulfilled. The princess didn’t allow herself to take a peek at the clock, so her fury wouldn’t spike even more at the notion of the many hours of light that she had missed.

Padmé merely looked down, ashamedly, and returned her attention to Luke once the daughter had vanished away. “Are you okay?”

Dramatically, Luke rubbed his fingers against his cheek, and his actions were leaving his skin redder than Leia’s flap contact. He conceded with a grim, “I deserved that.”

She tilted her head in the slightest. “You did.”

Bracing himself for the battle he was about to enter, Luke hopped back on his feet, determined to go after his sister. As he passed by Padmé, he gently tapped her upper arm and said, “I’ll see you later, mother,” before disappearing without a trace.

Padmé blew a puff of air between her lips, far too used to being left behind.

* * *

Luke ran, and he ran, and he ran, and he wasn’t sure whether he was running after Leia or simply testing the boundaries of his new leg — which, so far, seemed to be nonexistent, and he quite enjoyed that illusion of freedom.

Unlike him, Leia walked in a steady rhythm; not too fast, so bystanders wouldn’t think she was running away from something, not too slow either, so those same peasant minds wouldn’t think she was idly wasting precious time. 

It was true — she  _ really  _ wasn’t running away from Luke, she only intended to get to her private quarters as soon as possible, change into a suitable outfit that didn’t smell of Han’s perfume, and start to make up for all those hours of labor she had evaded by working extra hard. And to prove herself as much, she made sure to keep her pacing constant when she heard Luke shouting her name from afar.

“Leia!”

Only Luke to attract everyone’s attention by his lack of discretion. She felt prying eyes watching her from afar, which she strongly ignored, just like she ignored the yelling brother behind her.

“Leia, we need to talk,” Luke nearly begged, once he found himself side by side with her. A little out of breath, sure, but his exterior appearance wouldn’t denounce anything.

“No, we don’t,” Leia replied coldly, not bothered, crossing her arms to indicate how unreachable she was to the rest of the world.

Like an annoying brother — and he made sure to play this role  _ right  _ — he repeated, “Yes, we  _ do _ .”

“Fine. But  _ needing  _ to talk doesn’t mean we’re actually going to talk.”

He buried his hands deep inside the pockets of his pants. “I don’t see a reason why we shouldn’t.”

Leia angrily puffed, “I can think of plenty.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes; at least __ she wasn’t purposefully getting away from him. That was  _ something  _ already.

However, that wasn’t the time for games. He really needed to talk to her; he genuinely needed  _ her _ .

Because of that, because of their Force connection, he knew she would understand. Because of their bond, Luke abruptly stopped her by throwing himself in front of her and placing his hands over her shoulder pads. She was ready to fight him, she really was, until she looked further than her emotions and found his. After that, she could only stare at him with worry. 

“I am troubled, Leia,” he confessed, and she would be the only person he would ever confess it to. “I  _ need  _ you.”

With a gap between her lips, she looked at him intensely, trying to decipher the emotions that were usually such an open book to her — not today, though. 

“Okay. Let’s go somewhere private.”

She offered him all her reassuring by holding their eye contact a little longer, then found his hand on hers. His fingers were so cold, an antonym to all the life he held inside of him, and that troubled  _ her _ .

Forgotten all about the great number of people around them, Leia didn’t let go of his hand as she guided them somewhere secure — which happened to be her private quarter, her final destination anyway. She did not care about people so evidently watching her take a man to her room, a man that wasn’t  _ Han  _ — as they did not know that Luke was her brother, yet. Her life was none of their business, and if they wanted to gossip about her behind her back, then let them. It would only result in word getting back to Han, and Han mocking them about it without an end.

Luke entered her cabin for what he remembered to be the first time. Personally, he had never minded her visiting the little room he was supposed to call  _ home,  _ but it had always felt like a breach of her privacy to go look for her there and — ah, he couldn’t quite explain, but considering how little time she spent there, given her undivided attention to her work and her making the Falcon a home for herself, it hardly mattered anyway. Then, being there for the first time, part of him was surprised.

It was neatly organized — which, of course, didn’t surprise him in the  _ slightest.  _ And it wasn’t that her cabin, although still small, was generously bigger than his either — he would think that being the hero of the rebellion would earn him the best sort of accommodation they had to offer, but apparently being the last princess of a civilization still had its perks; he couldn’t, nor wanted to, compete with that. 

What amazed him the most was how homey it looked. The single bed in the corner of the room was perfectly made, with a beautiful linen bedding, of white and blue flowers. The wooden working desk was taken over by several datapads, to which he was  _ sure  _ each had their own respective purpose to Leia’s work. The small round dining table, accompanied by two chairs, was decorated with a tea set, a kettle, and a plant. A plant! A plant in the most beautiful vase. Since when was Leia the type of woman to simply grow a  _ plant _ ?

He compressed his lips to hold back his teasing smile; there was certainly a more feminine side to Leia that she didn’t show amidst the terrors of war.

“Would you like some tea? Or water? Or something to eat? You must be hungry. What was the last time you had something to eat, anyway?”

Leia’s motherly behavior towards him also surprised him — especially when she was supposedly still mad at him. He appreciated it.

“I’ll accept some water, thank you,” he offered her a polite nod as she found a bottle of water and threw it at him. It was warm, but having grown up in Tatooine, he would gladly accept any water. “Nice place, hm, you’ve got here.”

Leia chuckled softly. “I know what you’re thinking.”

He took a seat by the table without an invitation; she didn’t mind. “Yeah? And what is it?”

“Well,” she took her time, walking to the wardrobe that miraculously fit all her clothes. If she didn’t know herself any better, she would have guessed she was stalling to have  _ the  _ conversation with Luke. Perhaps, she didn’t know herself as well as she thought. “You’re thinking, this is  _ war _ . We have the remains of the Empire to defeat, and yet here I am, playing house with myself. That I am purposefully wasting the time that I was supposed to build a new Republic from scratch, only so I can have a visually pleasing room to look at as I fall asleep at night.”

Luke opened his mouth to interfere, and she held her palm flat to silence him.

“The thing, Luke, is that this is my  _ home _ . It’s all I have. Of course, you and Han and Chewie  _ are  _ home, but it’s nice to have a little place to call my own. Where I can let glimpses of myself shine without the fear of them being erased. Because in a war where only destruction and oppression reign, the prospect of losing the rest of my identity is daunting,” a little disconnected to her surroundings, Leia ran her fingers against the closed door of the wardrobe. “I don’t have a single heirloom from home. Not a personal belonging, not a private picture. It’s all gone, all I have are my memories, memories that I’m terrified of losing to the flux of time. I can’t afford to lose myself, now that I have nothing left. I  _ don’t  _ want to lose the person that I once was, and I guess… I guess this is the way I found of holding tight to who I am.”

Luke stared at her with both awe and discomfort, although she remained with her back to him. He would never understand her pain, because even if he had lost his home, it had never been  _ home  _ to him; in a way, his loss had set him free. 

“I wasn’t thinking that, Leia,” he spoke in a lower voice, honestly — he would never judge her, not even for the silliest things that it was common for a brother to pick on their sister. “All I was thinking is that it’s a nice place.”

Leia smiled tenderly at him, albeit her face remained hidden to him.

“The plant did throw me off, though.”

She snorted loudly, at last gathering the courage to look at him again, and found a devilish smile stamped across his face. “Chewie gave it to me, a little after Han was frozen in the carbonite. He told me that life always blooms, and I should hold tight to that promise. I did.”

The little expression made him feel warm. Only a Wookie to so naturally understand the concept that the Jedi had spent hundreds of years searching for.

“Of course, I had never  _ grown  _ a plant before, and I nearly let it die countless times. But Chewie was always patient with me, he taught me that I should be patient as well — both with the plant and with searching for Han’s whereabouts. Now, well, now Han is back, but I keep it as a reminder that life will  _ always  _ bloom. People might be taken from us, and it’s our mission in life to carry their legacy by always taking them with us.”

For a long time, Luke pondered over her words. He thought of all the people he had lost, he thought of all the people whose lives he had  _ taken _ and tried to understand where  _ he  _ was __ in the circle of life. He made that question to the Force, and the Force granted him no answer.

In his silence, Leia opened the doors to the wardrobe and started to fumble through her dresses, looking for the outfit that was most likely to tell her peers,  _ I’m sorry my brother went bonkers in the middle of the night and I had to throw away weeks of careful planning in order to save him from his own stupidity and then having my very idiotic boyfriend deliver the report to you. _

“I owe you an apology for last night.”

“That you do,” she mumbled under her breath, pulling out a blue dress that she judged suitably. She did not expect, however, that Luke would immediately grimace at her choice, much less that she would listen to him and hang it back to search for another one —  _ him _ , her brother who virtually understood nothing about fashion!

“I will apologize to you, Leia,” he pledged, shaking his head once again when she pulled out a green dress. “I will make it up to you, but I need to explain myself to you first, and I fear… I’m afraid it is a story of darkness. Will you let me do as much?”

She eyed him sideways. “You don’t have to ask, Luke.”

“Thank you,” he bowed his head respectfully. He would ask, and he would always listen to her if she needed to stop — even if she did not say it out loud. Especially when his story involved matters she wasn’t comfortable acknowledging — such as the innate darkness in all of them. She retrieved an orange dress, and he couldn’t hold himself back, “That is a  _ hideous  _ dress. Why would you even buy that dreadful thing?!”

Leia gasped at him indecorously, “It’s not— _ Han  _ likes it.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Luke assured, “He’s only too scared of you to say it.”

With an annoyed expression, Leia simply threw it to the floor, with no intention of picking it up  _ ever  _ again. She went back to her fumbling.

“You see, Leia, I learned some truths last night that scared me. And in my fright, I ran away. I ran away to find answers because I was terrified of the answers I would find within myself,” he confessed, leaning his elbows into his thighs. “I still am, and I can’t  _ afford  _ to be scared. In fear lies a Jedi’s weakness.”

“That’s stupid,” Leia whispered, more to herself than to him, but she sensed that his curiosity peaked, even with her back to him. “Fear is our superpower. Fear is  _ your  _ superpower. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for our fear, fear of oppression, and censure. There’s nothing wrong with being scared, since being scared heightens our senses and ensures us of our survival.”

Luke listened to her, he really did, but—

“Maybe for you, for  _ other  _ people, but my fear is my enemy. It is not the Jedi way to be afraid.”

“The Jedi are all dead, Luke,” she spoke harsh words in a gentle word; she understood that was the last thing he wanted to hear, but he  _ needed  _ to hear it. “Maybe, if they had been slightly more afraid, they wouldn’t have stood by idly as Palpatine seized all power to himself until it was too late to do anything about it.”

He swallowed hard, taking some offense on behalf of all the other Jedi — although, subconsciously, he understood the guilt wasn’t his to take. “I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“Nothing is ever that simple, Luke,” she smiled condescendingly. 

He breathed out heavily. “Anyway, you’re the one to  _ talk _ .”

Frowning, Leia looked at him, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the most fearless person I know, Leia.”

A little surprised with such an analysis, Leia shook her head sideways. “That is simply not true, Luke.”

“Yes, it is,” he guaranteed. “I look at you and I see no fear. I  _ feel  _ no fear coming from you.”

“Then you’re not looking right,” she accused sharply, and he raised both his hands in defense. She sighed, “The war terrifies me, I have only learned how to compress my sentiments. As a sovereign and a public figure, it is not my place to demonstrate fear, I must be  _ strong  _ for my people, for the people I lead. But my fear is a constant part of me, and I hold on tight to it. It aided my strength to resist Vader’s probing, it helped me not to give up when Han was frozen and lost to us. Above all, it vitalizes me. The remaining of my people are significantly more afraid than I; my people that died on Alderaan were naturally terrified to  _ death.  _ I owe it to them to own my fear and turn it into something good. Something better than what the war gave me.”

Luke glanced at her with admiration. “I wish I could be like you.”

Once again, she shook her head. “You’re perfect enough as you already are.”

He exhaled tiredly — he wished he could see that grandeur in himself that everyone seemed to be so amazed with. “Yesterday, when I learned of Anakin’s fall, I was  _ terrified.  _ Because he was good, and he fell trying to save the ones he loved. He fell trying to save us! He had so much love to give, and  _ I  _ have so much love to give — what’s stopping me from following his steps?”

As discomfort crept into her at the mention of her  _ father _ , she diverted her attention back to her wardrobe, giving herself something solid to hold on to. “Selfish love outweighs genuine love.”

Luke unconsciously grimaced, “You can’t be certain of the nature of Anakin’s love—yes, you should wear that one. It’s a beautiful dress.”

Leia eyed the black dress in her hands with suspicion. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wearing black before.”

“I’ve never worn it before,” she kept her glance on the outfit. “I don’t wear black. I don’t like it.”

He looked at her with troubled curiosity. “Why did you get it, then?”

“It was immediately after Alderaan, and…” she closed her fists tightly around the satin fabric, “I was grieving.”

His face fell. “Then why didn’t you wear it?”

“I realized that if I gave in to my grief, I would never stop mourning,” she confessed with a tight heart and threw the dress down to the floor as well. “You can’t be sure of it, either.”

“What?!”

“Of the nature of Anakin’s love,” she denounced. “Besides, you’re not Vader. You’re his antilogy.”

He buried his face on the palm of his hand. “I don’t want to become him. I fear that if I dare to look too deep inside of myself, I will only find darkness there.”

She grabbed a white dress, one that would remind her peers of her youthful innocence and naivety — well,  _ fool  _ them was more like it. Not looking for her brother’s approval, she carefully placed it over her bed, before sitting down in the mattress herself.

“There’s only good in you, Luke,” she said, folding her legs under her. 

Pursuing his lips, he looked down to the floor. “You can’t know that for sure.”

“Yes, I can.”

There was silence for a while, one that didn’t bother them, one that merely gave Luke the time he needed to sort his thoughts.

“That’s why I went to the Jedi Temple,” he admitted, his consciousness starting to weigh on him. “I wanted to…  _ reconnect  _ with those that came before me. I wanted to forge a sacred bond with the Force, I wanted to be reminded of light, I wanted to step out of the darkness. I was lost, and going to the Jedi Temple was the only way I knew of doing so.”

“You should have told me,” she spoke melancholically.

“So you’d have stopped me?”

“So I’d have gone with you.”

Luke glanced at her a little aghast. “You would have?”

“Of course,” truth be told, she was a little offended that he’d think otherwise. “I’d look after you, I’d  _ protect  _ you.”

He wrapped his arms around himself, a bit self-conscious.

“I guess that’s why I’m so mad at you, anyway,” she prompted, mimicking him and evading looking directly at him. “Because you imprudently risked your life, when I— _ we _ —could have been there to make sure nothing would have happened.”

“I didn’t do it to hurt you,” he cried, “I did it because I needed to be alone. I was troubled and wasn’t thinking rationally. All I wanted was to achieve my inner peace again.

“I understand, and I respect that,” she threaded carefully, “ _ However,  _ I can’t excuse your deeds. You could have  _ died,  _ all because you didn’t think to let anyone know of your whereabouts. Not a single message, Luke…! Sith forbid we couldn’t trace you, you’d be forever gone from us and we would have  _ no  _ idea of what might have happened to you. In your imprudence, you chose to put your sister and your mother through that.”

She wasn’t mad; in fact, he couldn’t recall the last time he had seen her lecture him so calmly. Luke would have thought he would appreciate that change in her behavior, rather than have her screaming her anger at him — instead, it troubled him. Because that wasn’t the Leia he knew, and it was a reminder of how badly he had hurt her.

“I’m sorry, Leia,” he apologized, genuinely, noticing how her eyes started twitching. “I know my plea doesn’t change anything, that it doesn’t erase the suffering that I put you all through last night, but I really  _ am  _ sorry. I hope your heart knows that I will never do anything to willingly hurt you.”

“I know, Luke,” she did — which made it infinitely harder. 

In return, his own eyes started to gather evidence of his emotions. “I understand that it was you who found me…”

She raised her hand to her mouth, trying to contain her sentiments. “No.”

“It wasn’t?!” he asked, dubiously.

“No, let’s not talk about this,” she finished her sentence, her voice lower than before. Just like him, she wrapped her arms around herself, and she never felt so small.

“But we need, Leia,” he advised, “You weren’t ready for that.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

They both sighed simultaneously. 

“How did you do it, Leia?” he insisted on asking, despite knowing her refusal to talk about it. He knew better than to let that single event defile her relationship with the Force — if it hadn’t already.

“I don’t know.”

Resistant to give up, Luke closed his eyes to find her presence in the Force already. He reached for her and touched the white strings of her essence with all his love and tenderness.

She smiled. With her eyes closed as well, she embraced his comfort, holding tightly to their kindred spirits. To her, that would be enough; to focus all her strength in the Force in her brother alone and their connection — that was all the power she desired.

_ “I’m scared,” _ she thought to herself, she thought to the  _ Force _ . She didn’t expect anyone— _ anything _ —to hear her, but the voice of her brother inside her head came to her both as a startle and a comfort.

_ “Weren’t you just telling me that fear is your superpower?” _

With a deep inhale, she opened her eyes again and found him staring back at her with those big dove eyes. She saw her reflection in his eyes and understood he was the one person she could be vulnerable to.

“I woke up in the middle of the night with a tight feeling in my chest,” she began, avoiding eye contact, but keeping her voice steady. “I thought it was a nightmare — a  _ bad  _ nightmare, you know, one of those powerful enough to keep me awake for days straight. But no; no matter how bad my nightmares can be, they never felt like that. Like a knife impaled in my heart. Sorry, I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“I understand very well,” he replied, torn between staying there and sitting next to her. He decided that, until she invited him, it would be best to keep his distance. “I have also…  _ felt  _ like that… when you were in danger.”

For a second, she frowned, trying to remember the last time she was evidently in danger to cause such a shift in the Force — and when she remembered that it had occurred in Jabba’s palace, she shivered, and quickly shoved the memory away.

“Oh.”

In a way, it was comforting to know that she had never truly been alone, that she would never  _ be  _ alone. However, she didn’t want her brother prying over her pains. They were hers, and hers only.

“Yeah.”

Sniffing, she carried on. “At first, I didn’t know what it meant, only that something was wrong. Until I thought of you, and the breath of your life didn’t come to me. I knew you were in danger, then.”

“How did you find me?” he asked again, a little curious. “I remember that I purposefully shut myself from you. I didn’t want to trouble you.”

“Next time, keep in mind that your twin sister might be desperately looking for you,” she gave him a face, but it soon dissolved into nothing. “I don’t know, Luke. If you asked me to do it again, I wouldn’t know how to.”

“Your power lies within you, Leia,” Luke said, “You don’t earn it, you’re born with it. The Force chooses special people, people that are capable of great things, and it aids them with the bliss of life. With this connection that binds us to everything, to the universe itself.”

“You just made that up.”

Luke scoffed. “Well, I don’t actually know how the Force chooses us. But I suppose it predicts our potential to do great things.”

“Anyone can be special,” Leia whispered, “We don’t need to be bound by the Force to achieve greatness. On the contrary.”

He frowned and waited for her to explain

“The Force… It gives people an illusion of grandeur. It makes them think they’re superior to everyone else, and… All this power concentrated in the hands of the wrong people and an Empire of evil rises.”

Any other day, he would have debunked her line of thinking. Any other day, he would have argued that the Force only gives, and it’s the people’s fault of what they do with the power they are given. Today, when he was questioning the darkness inside of himself, he wouldn’t do that. Today, he would simply stand up, sit again next to her, and hold her hand.

“The Force in the hands of good people is a good thing,” he held her hand tightly. “If you accepted this power, Leia, you would only achieve great things. For yourself and the galaxy.”

“It’s alright,” she said, a little patronizing. “I already have my power as a monarch and a politician. I know I can build us a better galaxy employing my knowledge only.”

He chuckled lightly, folding his legs under him as well and they were both casually sitting at her bed, looking at each other. “You’re capable of great things, Leia.”

She smiled tenderly at him.

“You’re going to build us the greatest New Republic,” he carried on, feeling a little proud of having his little sister — and he meant that in affection for how small she was in comparison; otherwise, he was  _ certain  _ she had been born first, from the way she acted — at the vanguard of all the great things that were still to come. “Because of that, Leia, I need to tell you something.”

Her smile dissipated from her lips almost immediately; his tone threw him off, and when reckless decided to search the Force for some insight, her feelings didn’t lessen her worry. 

“What is it, Luke?” she asked, her breath stuck in her throat, “You’re scaring me.”

“Don’t be scared,” he reached out to grab her hand, “This time, I promise you have nothing to be scared of. It’s something I must do for myself, and all I want is for you to be proud of me.”

“You don’t have to do anything to prove yourself to me, Luke,” she said, a little desperate at whatever he had in mind — she didn’t even need to be Force sensitive to know it wasn’t anything  _ good.  _ “I  _ am  _ proud of you. Of everything you’ve achieved and everything you’ve become. You’re good, Luke. You’re  _ enough _ .”

He appreciated her words — they made a difference, but, unfortunately, not a difference big enough.

“This isn’t something I have just decided to do,” he tried to explain, tried to make it  _ easier.  _ “It has been bothering me for a while, ever since I joined the war and became part of something greater than myself.”

Her eyes were suddenly filled with a thin moist layer. “What has changed? We’ve  _ won  _ the war, Luke. We’re slowly rebuilding the galaxy that we gave our lives for. We finally get to claim our happiness!”

“You’re not happy, Leia,” he declared, not trying to accuse her, merely pointed it out. He said it with a melancholic approach, still holding tightly to her — both physically and spiritually. “You try to be, you  _ want  _ to be, but I see through you, Leia. The war has taken everything from you, and you don’t know how to be happy again.”

She breathed in heavily, finding it hard to look at his eyes but forcing herself to. She was terrified that, if she dared to look away, he would disappear on her. “I concede to that, but you’re not me, Luke. I look at you and… you’re happy! You’ve got your mother back, and—and you found me! You’re happy, Luke, I… I don’t understand.”

“I am happy, Leia. You, my family, make me happy,” he assured, and when she was about to protest, he offered a look to silence her. “But I don’t think it’s right for me to be happy at the sake of other people’s unhappiness.”

At this point, she could no longer  _ breathe _ , “What are you talking about?”

“Leia,” he said her name carefully, wetting his lips while he properly gathered his thoughts. “Last night, I was reminded of all the things that I’ve done in the course of the war, all the blood in my hands, and I concluded that it’s not right for me to sit idly back when I was responsible for the life of so many innocent people.”

Her eyes were big and startled and  _ scared _ . She did not know how to react.

And her lack of reaction allowed him to speak without an ounce of fear.

“I’m going to turn myself in.”

Leia Organa never thought it possible for her emotions to fail her. She never thought there would come a day where she did not feel anger, nor sorrow, nor happiness, nor peace. Only emptiness.

“W… What?”

“I’m going to turn myself in, for my war crimes,” he spoke again, slowly, in case there were any issues of miscommunication from her end — he was no fool, though. He knew she had understood exactly what he meant. “It wasn’t an easy decision, but I can’t live in peace knowing of all the people whose innocent lives I’ve taken. I  _ need  _ to pay for my sins. I can’t—I  _ won’t  _ become Vader.”

Abruptly, she yanked her hands from his grasp and got up. Walking to the opposite side of the room, she stood on her back to him. Her arms crossed, her heart  _ aching,  _ her soul left behind with the brother she had all but lost.

“No.”

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. He knew this conversation wouldn’t be an easy one to have — so far, it was living up to his expectations. 

“Leia, this is my decision, and my decision only,” he reasoned, unsure of how willingly she was to listen to him. “I don’t want to hurt you, or Padmé! I just got Padmé back, and you, my twin sister! I don’t want to lose you, but this is the only way I know of making my errors right. I need you to respect my decision, Leia.”

“ _ No…! _ ” this time, she screamed, her fists clenching angrily to her sides. “I will  _ not  _ let you do this.”

“Leia—” he tried to stay calm; he wasn’t about to lose it at her, but she was making it everything harder than it was supposed to be. “I can’t count all the people whose lives I’ve taken. I have no idea how many people cried because of me, because I’ve taken their fathers and their mothers and siblings and children away from them. I  _ need  _ to make amends to them.”

In return, she only offered him her silence, and her breathing was almost as loud as Vader’s. 

He dropped his legs to the ground, aching to go to her yet frightened to do so. “I’m sorry, Leia. I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear, and I hate to go without your bliss, but I will do this with or without your support. I’m just sorry it has to be this way.”

“No!” she yelled louder than before, and, in her anger, she slammed her clenched fist against the wall. Furiously, channeling all her rage into one simple act. It was loud, it was painful, it didn’t even come close to subsiding the hatred she felt for her brother at that moment. She repeated, “I will not __ let you do this.”

“It is my choice, Leia,” he cried, holding anxiously to his own knees. “I don’t want to hurt you, I would  _ never  _ willingly hurt you. But bear in my mind that your reluctance to accept my choice hurts  _ me _ .”

“I don’t  _ care _ ,” she snapped, her entire being consumed by her exasperation. She couldn’t believe someone would be this  _ stupid… _ ! “You want to turn yourself in, fine, go ahead. Just bear in mind that  _ I  _ am in charge of this new galaxy, and it’s up entirely up to  _ me  _ whether you’re sentenced to your war crimes or not.”

He gasped at her allegation — he would have  _ never  _ expected she would go this far, and that notion scared him.

“You wouldn’t. You would never abuse your power, that goes against everything you stand for. You would  _ never  _ betray your ethics like that for anyone, not even your brother.”

She looked over her shoulders with eyes as lifeless as death. Those startled him almost as much as the streams of tears descending her cheeks.

“Try me.”

Her tone was so hollow and dark that, for the first time in his life, he didn’t doubt her capability to bend the rules to protect those she loved. Flashes of Anakin’s fall glimpsed through his mind while shivers of terror ran down his spine. That was  _ not  _ supposed to happen.

Hesitantly, he rose to his feet, and dreadfully walked to her. “It’s  _ my  _ choice, Leia,” he said for the zillionth time, unsure of how else to get her to listen to him. “As my sister, you should  _ respect  _ it, rather than try to erase the hardest decision I ever made for myself.”

“It’s not just your choice, Luke!” she retorted sharply,  _ hysterically,  _ and there was no controlling the tears escaping her eyes. “It involves  _ everyone  _ in your life! Me, and Padmé, and Han, and Chewbacca! We’re  _ all  _ affected by your stupid choices! We all suffer the consequences of you recklessly deciding to go to  _ jail _ !”

“Leia, you don’t understand!” he yelled back, not caring how harsh he sounded. “I blew up two Death Stars! I killed millions of people with one single shot! That isn’t  _ right _ , Leia!”

“They were imperials!” Leia shouted, her vision blurry. 

“That doesn’t mean anything!” he tried to reason, “Most of them just wanted to put food on their children’s plate! Most of them didn’t have the luxury of being political! Most of them died for a cause that didn’t belong to them!”

“Are you even listening to yourself right now?!” her heart was pounding inside her chest, “ _ Nobody  _ forced them to work for the Empire. There are countless other ways to make a living that goes against making way for the Empire to thrive!”

He crossed his arms, “ _ Han  _ was in the Imperial Academy.”

“Yeah, and he evaded because he refused to stand by to the Empire’s evil deeds!” she replied angrily.

He shook his head negatively, “The world is not in black and white, Leia. It’s time you step out of your bubble and realize that not all people are like you. Few people grew up in safety and wealth and had the chance to stand up for their beliefs. Most people struggled too much only to get by. Most people don’t have the  _ choice  _ to have a choice.”

“Sure, Luke, I might have once been the privileged little princess who lived inside the bubble of her ideals, but not anymore,” for the first time, she lowered her voice, “Those  _ very  _ people that you’re defending popped the bubble and stole everything from me. Those very people that you’re putting on a pedestal tortured me until I could no longer  _ breathe. _ ”

He was desperate to look away, but against his better judgment, he resisted the urge. “That’s not what you're angry about.”

“You’re right,” she accused, her eyes fuming. “I’m angry because you’re  _ walking away.  _ You’re choosing the easy way out and locking yourself in a stupid cell. You’re electing to give up, and I can offer you no respect for that.”

With his hand over his face, he pulled the skin of his face down to his chin in pure annoyance. “Did you not hear  _ anything  _ that I told you?”

“All I hear is that instead of making your past mistakes right by continuing to keep the galaxy safe from evil, you’ve decided to remove yourself from the equation. I have no respect for someone who cowers instead of standing tall amidst their fears.”

“I don’t understand, Leia,” he cried, “I don’t understand  _ you _ . I thought you would be  _ proud  _ that I chose to redeem myself for my crimes.”

“How can I be proud of you if you’re running away from your  _ crimes,  _ rather than fighting to make them right again?” she attacked him mercilessly, pointing her index at him. “I will never forgive you if you choose to back away, Luke. I swear, if you insist on this gibberish of glorifying your honor by victimizing yourself, I won’t ever absolve you.”

“I’m not doing any of that,” he denounced, bitter that she would ever think this low of him. “But you don’t understand what it’s life to take away the life of others with your own hands. To extinguish innocent life! I don’t understand why you simply can’t let me do this, what I need to do for  _ myself,  _ other than for your fear of being alone.”

She saw him walking away, so determined with his convictions that he refused to hear her side. In her raging stubbornness, she was willing to let him go. She would be ready to never look at his face again, if only she weren’t so afraid of another heartbreak.

“Because, Luke,” she screamed at him when he was about to reach the door to step out of her life  _ forever,  _ as it would seem. “What about me?!

“You?” he looked sideways, with a slight scoff. “You’ll move on, like you always do.”

Leia resisted the urge to roll her eyes; he had missed her point completely.

“I don’t have the luxury of turning myself in!”

A little intrigued, Luke dared to turn around to face her again. “You don’t have blood in your hands, Leia. Not like I do.”

“I killed Alderaan, Luke!” this time, she yelled hoarsely, like she had no strength left inside of her. “You want to talk about the innocent blood that was spilled in the war? Forget a few stormtroopers that chose to give their lives to the Empire. I killed  _ every  _ Alderaanian when they weren’t even  _ in  _ the war. Their blood is in my hands, and I don’t get to walk away from that.”

“No, Leia,” he slowly paced back to her, with both his hands in the air, “The Empire destroyed Alderaan, not you. You didn’t press the button.”

“I might as well have!” The flux of her tears was intense, and she had long given up trying to stop it. “It doesn’t matter who pressed the button, because  _ I  _ was responsible for Alderaan’s obliteration.”

“Would you listen to yourself, Leia!” his tone carried more of an order than a request. “What happened to Alderaan is  _ not  _ on your shoulders. You’re not responsible for every single misdeed that our father has done.”

“You don’t understand, Luke!” she replied frantically, her hands shaking to the point there was no trying to hide it. “They chose to obliterate Alderaan because of  _ me _ ! Because I was reckless in my mission and let myself get caught! Because I resisted all the torture they had set aside for me and wouldn’t reveal the location of the Rebellion secret base!”

“Being resilient isn’t a bad thing!” Each step closer to her he took, the more cornered she became. “I know you, Leia, you would  _ never  _ trade tactical information for your life. If you had, you’d have never been able to live with yourself.”

“That’s the thing, Luke! I was ready to give my life for the cause! I was ready to  _ die  _ the moment Darth Vader boarded my ship and killed everybody else aboard! But the life of Alderaan should have  _ never  _ been in the line of fire!”

“You wouldn’t trade information for Alderaan, either,” he tried to reason, “You  _ didn’t.  _ You’ve always held tight to your morals, and that’s what makes you so honorable.”

“Maybe I should have!” she gesticulated with her arms crudely.

“Leia—”

“If the Empire had found the Rebellion secret base, fine, they would have run away, as we’ve always done. If the Empire had  _ exterminated  _ the Rebellion, fine, new people would have stepped up the cause and another rebellion would be born,” she inferred, gravely. “Either way, the Rebellion would have thriven. Unlike Alderaan, that will forever be space dust.”

Luke crossed his arms, uncomfortably. He understood her line of thinking very well, but he also  _ knew  _ that it wasn’t healthy for her to bargain for a timeline that was impossible to ever happen.

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself had I selfishly traded information for my own survival, no,” she admitted hoarsely, “I’m barely able to live with myself for not trading valuable information for Alderaan.”

He walked nearer her, to the point he was invading her personal space. He was no longer concerned with the possibility of doing more harm than good, because all harm had already been done. “Nobody blames you for what happened, Leia.”

She scoffed ironically, because it didn’t make any difference — she blamed herself.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself either,” he said, hearing her unspoken words. “Look at everything you’ve done for the Rebellion, everything that you still  _ do _ . I understand that it’s hard to let go of the responsibility you feel for your home planet, but you need to at least  _ forgive  _ yourself.”

Leia shook her head, looking down. “I will never forgive myself, but that’s okay. I know my duty to the last of my people, and I will never walk away from them. Their sorrow falls onto me, and I must do everything in my power to make sure that they will suffer no more. That’s why I can’t turn myself in, Luke. I have a  _ duty,  _ and I am more favorable to making a difference out here, than punishing myself for my crimes inside a cell.”

Guilty, Luke allowed silence to linger.

“I am begging you to do the same. I  _ know  _ it’s selfish of me, but I can’t afford to lose anybody else. I’m not sure I would make it.”

With his hard pounding inside of him, Luke stepped forward and wrapped her in his fold. As he held her tight, she trembled uncontrollably in his embrace, but she did not make a sound. If she cried, she cried silently. Until her emotions became insufferable, and she hugged him back. Strongly, too desperate that it would be the last time.

With his face half-hidden over the top of her head, he felt his own tears escaping his eyes. He did not care to wipe them away, though; he knew he was in the safest place in the galaxy. 

“I won’t abandon you,” he promised her in a whisper, so only she would hear him. He understood, at that moment, that she needed him much more than he’d imagined; it wouldn’t be right to surrender to his agony and pull himself out from the world.

Because, after all — like  _ always  _ — Leia was right. He would only redeem his crimes by making the galaxy a better place than before, not by excluding himself from the galaxy that he had given his life for.

In appreciation of his vow, Leia held him tighter than before.

“I need you to promise me something, though,” he said, a little surprised that she would pull away to look at his eyes again. With his thumbs, he delicately wept her cheeks, uncaring that his own resembled the same. “I don’t want to become Vader.”

“You won’t, Luke,” she replied, her voice a little shaken and unlike her every tone that had flicked with emotions across their heated argument. “I look at you, and I only see light.”

He smiled tenderly, wishing nothing more than to believe her. “I don’t want to become Vader, Leia,” he repeated, his own emotions starting to betray him. “I need you to promise me that, if you ever fail to see that light inside of me, if you begin to only see darkness, you won’t let the darkness become me.”

She stared at him startled, perceiving very well his meaning but praying that she had misunderstood him. “Luke—”

“I need you to promise you will end it.”

“You want me to promise to kill you?”

Blankly, she couldn’t think. For several moments, she wished she was somewhere else,  _ anywhere,  _ so she wouldn’t have to pledge her heart to his asking. She had suffered enough, but none of her sufferings seemed to prepare her for the painful hollow of that instant.

“Will you do the same for me?”

“Leia,” he tilted his head in compassion, “You don’t have to worry about that. You’re a vessel of light, and your power will always lie on the path of good. You’re a beacon of honor to all those that follow you, myself including.”

His words fell on deaf ears, because he had also ignored her assurance of the good in him.

“Will you do the same for me?”

Reluctantly, he bowed his head nobly.

“Okay, then.”

Too scared to face the consequences of her promise, Leia hid herself against his chest again. Likewise, Luke buried his chin on her hair, and they would stay like that forever, amidst their fear of whatever the future held for them.

In their minds, only one promise remained — life would always bloom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof, so this chapter was a roller coaster of emotions, to say the least lmao. i just really really love writing leia and luke and the dynamics of their relationship.
> 
> let me know what you think about luke's decision!


	20. Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we finally start getting some answers in this chapter....

At night, Luke Skywalker could not fall asleep.

He lied down in this tiny bunk on his back, his arm stuck between his head and the pillow under his head. His eyes wide open, staring at the boring ceiling above them, replacing their basic visual with a universe of images flashing through his mind.

Images of life; images of  _ death.  _ He concluded that, by the end of the day, he wasn’t exactly sure he had made the right choice by electing Leia’s desire over his own. It had all been in the spur of the moment, lots of things had been said, lots of emotions had been  _ confronted,  _ and they both parted ways without addressing the elephant in the room again.

The inherent darkness that lived inside both of them.

The inherent darkness that abided in Darth Vader’s children.

Luke Skywalker was restless. He struggled with everything he had done, all the people he had killed, all the destruction his course amidst the war had brought to the path he had walked on. He wondered if his good deeds had softened his bad deeds, or whether his bad deeds erased his good deeds.

He wondered what was his role in the great scheme of things. He wondered what was it that made him so  _ irreplaceable. _

Why did he have to be special? While did he have to be a  _ hero _ ? He didn’t like it. He hadn’t  _ asked  _ for it. His prestige as the galaxy’s hero put him in a pedestal that he would not appreciate, not ever, because he also knew of the bad there was behind his good achievements. 

The hero should have been someone else — someone like Leia, he supposed. Leia had the strange ability to put her duty first, and let the rest be damned. She would have killed Darth Vader and Palpatine in a heartbeat, without any hesitance, if she had been in his place. Leia would be able to discern the spared life of a few if it meant saving the galaxy from the clutches of evil.

She had done it with Alderaan — her own home planet! — and, although she would always carry the burden and blame for it, she never second-guessed it. He wished he could be more her.

He wasn’t — maybe because he had a deeper connection with the Force. Maybe because he had forged a bond with everything that was life, and pledged himself with the promise of looking after everything alive. Whatever it was, he couldn’t shake off the unbearable guilt of stealing the breath of other people.

Which was why he had been so determined to turn himself in. So he would seclude himself from society and dedicate some several years of his life making amends with his deeds. asking forgiveness to the Force for all the blood in his hand. To him, it didn’t matter that those people were  _ bad,  _ or had done something morally dubious — everyone had their story and a drive that led them to where they got. 

He didn't even dare to kill Darth Vader, despite all the harm he had caused during Palpatine’s reign. Vader had, for sure, killed many more than Luke, than Luke could even depict. Vader had tortured Leia, and Han, and cut off Luke’s own hand, and he still couldn’t bring himself to see past the promise of  _ good  _ hidden somewhere within his soul.

Sure, he had been right. In the end, Anakin had come back to him and killed Palpatine to spare his son’s life. Still, he had chosen the man he barely knew over his sister and the smuggler he considered his best friend. Maybe, his excessive goodness was his biggest flaw.

Except — he didn’t  _ think  _ he was that good. A good person wouldn’t kill, wouldn’t as much as wield a weapon. 

Well, maybe that wasn’t  _ entirely  _ true. Good people went to war, to stop bad people and their bad actions — if he would allow himself to see things in so black and white. Leia joined the war and she was a good person; even  _ Han,  _ with his ambiguous morality in the years of battle, was a good person.  _ For the sake of the Force,  _ why was everything so complicated?!

Luke had no idea what to do next. He had made a promise to Leia that he wouldn’t turn himself in, and, back then, he had understood and conceded to her point of view. Now, in the span of half a day, he wasn’t so sure. Of course, he wouldn’t go as far as breaking his promise — no, Leia would view it as the ultimate betrayal of their kinship, and he wasn’t ready to face the repercussions that that would bring, whatever they were. He understood that he would have to be content with the prison of his mind, and truth be told, that seemed equally terrifying, if not worse. 

He thought of the latent darkness inside of him, and shivers washed over his entire body.

He thought of his plea to Leia, his begging request that she would terminate his life before he became someone he wouldn’t recognize. He knew that Leia would never break her word, that she would put her duty, alongside the sake of the galaxy, over her personal needs and she would take his life, if it came to it. However, that notion brought him guilt, because he had brought her an unspeakable burden, and an unbearable heartbreak if she had to follow through with it. She had already lost so much to darkness, and then, she would lose her brother as well.

He thought of her own request to him — and how his heart beat faster inside of him when he remembered he had promised her he would do the same. Now, he was afraid he would only let her down. Although he couldn’t visualize the day his sister would  _ ever  _ turn dark, he wasn’t sure he would be able to  _ terminate  _ her, as she had asked him for. He hadn’t been able to kill Vader, with whom he held no emotional attachments, then how was he supposed to take the life of his sister, one of the people he loved the most?

He was scared. He was scared of failure —  _ terrified.  _ He thought of his argument with Leia, earlier that day, and how they both had said dubious things — things that could only be explained by the inherent darkness in them. His anger at her refusal to accept his choice, a kind of anger he had never felt before, that made his blood boil and his hands clench in fists of hate. Her determination to abuse her political influence if it meant getting her way; a thirst to bend power to her will that he had never pictured her craving.

Their reactions scared him — were they nothing but Darth Vader’s children?

_ No;  _ he pushed the concept far away from his mind. They were Padmé’s children, he was his mother’s son! He was the child of a luminous being, one who only sparked with light and hope and forgiveness — and not an ounce of darkness to it. Padmé Amidala, the only person in their dysfunctional little family that possessed light and light only.

He was her son, first. He wanted to claim her legacy, not Vader’s.

And then, there was Padmé —  _ sith,  _ he didn’t even want to depict her reaction if he had gotten the chance to knock at her door and announce,  _ “Hey, guess what, I’m going to prison!” _

Grunting loudly to himself, he turned his body in bed and buried his head deep into the pillow; then, he grunted some more. Padmé would have been heartbroken. She had lost him, only to find him twenty years too late, only have him walk out on her, like the past month that they had known each other for had meant nothing.  _ Nothing _ .

Leia’s expression of betrayal had already been too much for him to bear. Padmé’s potential demeanor of pain would most likely  _ break  _ him. He would be willingly putting her through yet another heartbreak, without any assurance that she would overcome it this time.

Worse — he would be leaving Padmé and Leia alone to deal with—whatever they had to deal with. Most of the time, he didn’t have the faintest idea of what was going on between those two, and, most of the time, he chose to believe that ignorance was bliss. Both girls were big enough to diplomatically handle their own issues, although he recognized that more often than not he had worked as a mediator between them before either got the chance to say something that they would regret later. The idea of leaving them behind without him to be the one thing in common between them was — terrifying, to say the least.

Then again, it was a good thing he decided to  _ stay.  _ Perhaps, if he had indeed talked to Padmé, she would have used the same logic as his sister to walk him out of his insane idea — although, presumably, she would have been calmer and politer and less brutal about the whole matter. Ultimately, Padmé and Leia had more in common than they’d like to believe — than  _ Leia  _ would willingly admit. After all, they were the two people in the entire  _ galaxy  _ able to ground him. There was bound to have some merit in that.

He wondered, still, if Padmé would have been able to forgive him if he stepped away momentarily. Leia had made herself clear that she wouldn’t even as much as look at his face again if he followed through with his crazy idea — when he had thought she would be supportive and maybe even come to visit! — and he desired to know if Padmé would react equally as bad. Maybe, he should run his idea with her anyway, to gather some perspective.

Chances were, she would either place her hand over his shoulder, give a tight squeeze and tell him that was not the right to redeem himself, or she would slap him in the face as angrily as Leia had. Either way, he was most likely to be put in his place.

Although — he didn’t  _ know  _ what his place was. For the past four years, he had had one very clear task, which didn’t allow him to divert his eyes away from the focus: bringing down the Empire and killing Darth Vader and Palpatine on the go. He had  _ lived  _ for that one achievement, and, in the end, he hadn’t even managed to accomplish that achievement. The Empire had fallen, sure, Darth Vader and Palpatine were dead, sure, he had played a vital role in it all, sure — but he shouldn’t be granted the title of hero when he hadn’t been able to at least complete the duty he had been raised to fulfill.

He didn’t regret his choices, though. Had he been given another opportunity, to rewrite the past, he would do it all over again. He would stand down to Darth Vader and gamble with his own life, if it meant that Anakin got to see the light again.

In the end — it  _ had  _ worked; barely, but it did. It had been  _ worth  _ it. It had every potential to end in a disaster, for Luke to draw his last breath in that second Death Star, and if that had happened, Luke would have lost his life to his father, and he would have never had the chance to meet the mother who had unconditionally and genuinely loved him since the day he was born, even if she didn’t know of him.

He wouldn’t dwell on it, though. He had learned the greatest lesson with his sister that he shouldn’t waste his breath on a timeline that hadn’t happened. He felt bad for it, though, because fate had been kind to him; it hadn’t been to her.

He turned to his side, and his face was now squeezed between the hard mattress and the thin pillow, like a sandwich. His lifeless eyes stared at the lightsaber he had crafted from scratch a few months ago that rested on the night table, waiting for anything to happen. The lightsaber that he had had to fetch at Millennium Falcon, because it had been left — thrown there, really, with little respect — in the ship when they had rushed him to the medical bay, the previous night. 

Conveniently, he had run into Han there. A very annoyed Han, who had spent a morning dealing with equally annoying politicians, trying to fix  _ his  _ messes, while his sister was busy dealing with his turmoils. At first, he was glad to see Luke, to know that he was seemingly alright. Then, once his initial relief was over, the smuggler gave him a smack in the back of the head.

Luke had dramatically mouthed  _ ouch,  _ but accepted the reprimand gracefully, especially after hearing Han’s reasoning — Luke was more than allowed to throw his life away, to recklessly face danger if he desired,  _ so long  _ as he didn’t drag Leia into it.

And then — there was  _ Leia.  _ His sister, who had saved him from death by delving into a power she had yet to fully grasp, and refused to talk about it. She didn’t need to tell him anything, because Han was mad at him about that, and  _ Padmé  _ was mad at him about it, and he was well aware that he had, essentially,  _ messed up _ . 

With his heart taken by his guilt, he reached for his sister, trying to find her imprint in the Force. She had her defenses slightly lowered as she embarked her slumber, and he could feel some agitation from her end. He grimaced, understanding a nightmare was starting to haunt her. Although he dreaded the concept of breaching her privacy, he would rather be yelled at later if it meant she would get a good night of sleep; he touched her presence with harmony and held her tight until she was peaceful again. 

Letting go of her, he sighed loudly and threw the pillow over his head far away to the floor, not bothering with the possibility of the single throw knocking something down. He didn’t care about the material world — or waking up half the base with the big sound of something crashing — he cared about his sister, and how he had failed her.

He cared about his promise to Yoda, that he was ought to pass on what he had learned, and how he was mostly failing his Master, as well. The Emperor’s purge had been meticulous; there weren’t any children of the Force hidden across the galaxy, waiting for the day that the Force would welcome them in. No; to his knowledge, he and Leia had been the only fortunate ones. 

He had found his strength in the Force, but Leia — the Force had forsaken Leia, it had strayed away the moments his sister needed it the most, and now the princess judged it to be the embodiment of everything bad.

Because the Force had mistreated her, when she had been under the mercy of their father, and it fell on Luke to guide her to the light. He couldn’t do so when he ran off on his own selfishness and forced her to abuse of the Force that she feared the most.

_ He had let her down.  _

Leia abhorred the Force — although he understood it to be another word for being afraid. He didn’t blame her when their father had been Darth Vader, the dark lord who tainted the rightness of the Force. Luke  _ understood  _ her, because, albeit she tried to conceal it more often than not, Leia thrived on her emotions, she embraced her passion to do the right thing, and she relied on her anger of the Empire, and of what the Empire had done to her, to fuel herself into building a new galaxy order from scratch.

Her emotions were her greatest asset — it wouldn’t be right for him to take them away from her, would it?

Then again, there was always the possibility that Leia was  _ right _ . If she were already right about everything else, why wouldn’t she be about this as well? Maybe, the Jedi’s greatest flaws were their refusal to  _ feel,  _ to allow themselves to be human, rather than consider themselves these larger than life beings. Maybe, if they only had let themselves to love and to be loved, to fear, to feel anger at the sight of injustice happening before them — maybe, Palpatine wouldn’t have risen to power.

After all, the dark side was a  _ choice.  _ Not a consequence of those emotions.

Anakin Skywalker  _ chose  _ to turn to the dark side; no exterior force had indulged him into it. He made a choice, and the galaxy suffered the consequences of his deeds.

All because Anakin Skywalker chose to love too much.

Luke wouldn’t make the same mistakes as his father, would he? Then, he thought of Padmé, of Leia, of Han, and he saw how far he was willing to go to protect them. 

Because he chose to love them too much — would the galaxy suffer the same fate under his power?

Maybe the Jedi had been right, after all. Maybe his attachment to his family would be his doom.

As it had been Anakin’s.

However — and his bad conscious wouldn’t allow him to speak aloud about this — the little selfish part of his soul felt  _ warm  _ that, one day, someone had done everything in their power to save him from death, before he was even born. He felt  _ loved  _ to know that someone had unconditionally loved him to the point of threatening and killing in his name, before he was placed under Uncle Owen’s carelessness.

In a way, he had repaid the debt of that kindness by refusing to kill Vader. Maybe he had done something right, in the name of love.

In the end, it had worked. Anakin Skywalker had come back to him.

Maybe, it fell to Luke’s shoulders to follow Anakin’s legacy. Maybe, his legacy would be to undo all the Jedi’s wrongs, while praying he didn’t do more harm than good himself.

Maybe, his purpose in this life was to make amends for his father’s sins by restoring peace and order throughout the galaxy.

_ “Your father’s sins are not yours to bear.” _

Luke had been so lost within his intrusive thoughts that the sound of someone calling for him gave him the start of his life — he had been lying so near the edge of the mattress that the alarming jump his accelerated heart caused him was enough to knock him out of his bed, landing on the floor with a loud clatter.

“ _ Ouch _ ,” he mumbled under his breath, a painful grim taking over his expression as he rubbed his hand against his reddened buttocks.

Only when his heart had eased inside of him, and his body was past the initial shock, that Luke Skywalker dared to search the room for the source of the voice on his head.

And when he did, he could not believe his own eyes.

“Ben! Ben Kenobi!”

At first, he was unsure of how to react. It had been  _ so long,  _ so long since his old Master had last come to him — precisely, ever since the second Death Star came apart and he offered him one last bow of approval, as he stood next to Yoda and Anakin during the celebrations within the Ewoks. Now, his first instinct was to rush to his mentor and give him a tight hug of relief, for coming back when he needed the most — only to fall back at the realization that he could  _ not  _ hug a ghost.

“Luke.”

His reply was short and succinct; capable of saying much more than whole sentences of words. His emotions were restrained, Obi-wan Kenobi bore his usual grace, one that had been acquired after many years of wisdom and solitude.

“Ben!” Luke squealed his name loudly once again, a little overly excited. He hopped onto his feet eagerly, aiding his motion with the Force to so swiftly stand again. “Ben… Why have you stopped coming to me? Have I let you down, Master?”

“On the contrary, Luke,” Ben assured with his worn voice. “The living reign rejects nonsentient beings, it only embraces life and light. My presence here is an affront to vitality, and the more it passes, the stronger I become with the Force, and with the Force only.”

Luke stared at him with his dove eyes, listening to his Master speak in awe.

“I no longer came to you, because you no longer needed me or my teachings. You’ve become a Jedi greater than I could ever be, and it is now your time to pledge to the galaxy an oath to serve and protect.”

“But you came back,” Luke stated the obvious, “You came back because you  _ sensed  _ I was troubled.”

“Indeed the truth, Luke,” Ben conceded, “Although I’m certain you no longer need my knowledge, that you have achieved a state of peace that all the Jedi once sought. You are strong enough to move on on your own.”

“I fear that is far from the truth, Ben,” Luke lamented, dropping himself back to his bed with a puff. “I’ve been seeking you, yet you did not respond.”

“I am here now,” he replied, walking freely in front of Luke, as if to prove his point. “You are not alone.”

“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” the young Jedi provoked with little eloquence, burying his chin on the palm of his hand. “I  _ am  _ alone. I am the last of my kind, the last of the Jedi. There’s no one there for me anymore, to support me, to guide me through my moments of need.”

“You are the last Jedi, Luke, but you certainly are  _ not  _ alone.”

Afraid to restore eye contact, Luke simply gazed at the floor, waiting for his mentor to elaborate. When he didn’t, he was obliged to ask, “You mean, there are other Force sensitive sentients out there? That I must seek and instruct in the ways of the Force?”

“Yes,” he nodded his head with conviction, “But more importantly than that, you have your own people. Your family. Do not turn your back on them, Luke, because  _ they  _ are your greatest strength. The Force aids you, but your loved ones are the foundation of your true power.”

“I don’t understand, Ben,” Luke admitted, a little desperately. “I thought the Jedi were forbidden to love…! I thought that my father  _ fell  _ because he loved too much, because he was terrified of losing my mother and Leia and me and we became his doom.”

Old Obi-wan Kenobi frowned, unsure of how Luke had come to that knowledge. It was the truth, and Ben didn’t question it. “Maybe, if the Jedi had allowed Anakin to love, rather than have him do it in secrecy, the galaxy would have met a different fate. Maybe, if Anakin had been able to come to the Jedi with his troubles, as he should have had, Palpatine wouldn’t have captivated him with the power that Anakin  _ needed  _ to ensure that his loved ones lived.”

Luke’s eyes became glossy as he pictured a life where he had been able to grow under the loving care of his mother and his father, alongside his sister. “You’re saying that the Jedi were wrong?”

“I’m saying, we’ll never know,” Ben clasped his hands together. “It doesn’t matter anymore. The Jedi live no more. You’re what’s left of our legacy, and you’re the only one responsible for a new Jedi Order, if it comes to exist at all.”

“I’m troubled, Ben,” Luke said once again, his mind becoming heavier with his doubts and insecurities. “What if I’m destined to follow my father’s step into the Dark side? What if my story arc is condemned to be… inherently bad?”

“This concept of destiny that you claim doesn’t exist,” Ben lectured, leaning his ghostly physique against the desk in the corner of the room. “The illusion that there is a force larger than life that dictates our paths and our fortunes is no more than that — an illusion. We are all responsible for our own choices, and we bear the consequences of our mistakes.”

Struggling to accept that concept, Luke mumbled, “Anakin chose the dark side…”

“He did,” Ben sadly agreed. “Just like he chose the light again, in the end. Your father’s sins are not yours to bear.”

Luke exhaled deeply, waving his hand, “I’m afraid my father’s sins might become my own.”

“I understand your concern, but as someone who closely watched Anakin fall — your father never struggled with the concept of the darkness. He embraced it as a means to a better end,” Ben said, “You show your genuine fear for the darkness, and it only corroborates the innate goodness in you.”

At last, Luke braced himself to look at his mentor again. “You’re saying that being afraid is a good thing?”

Confidently, Ben Kenobi nodded. “It means you still have something to lose.”

With his heart pounding inside his chest, he anxiously brought his legs up the mattress. “Leia feels the same — she’s  _ terrified  _ that darkness will one day become her. Maybe, hm, you should pay her a visit.”

“I will not perturb a soul that does not want to be disturbed,” Ben refused, and Luke grimaced a little — of course, Leia being visited by a Force ghost would only lead to  _ catastrophe.  _ “Your sister has her own battles to fight, and you’re the only one who can aid her in her journey.”

“Ben, Leia doesn’t  _ want  _ my help,” Luke admitted, a sense of failure consuming him. “She doesn’t want anything to do with the Force, and — I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, because she’s  _ so strong  _ in the Force, Ben.”

Ben looked at him a little warily. “Perhaps you should respect her choice.”

Luke gazed at the deceased Jedi deadpan. “But Master Yoda instructed me to pass on what I had learned—”

“That doesn’t imply you ought to force your sister into a reign of power she’s not comfortable with,” Ben warned him carefully, “Her path may lie in a different road than yours.”

“I don’t want her to waste her potential, Ben,” Luke confessed in a whisper, “I don’t mean that she should become a Jedi — Leia is more astute with words than with physical sinew — but the Force should aid her. It would  _ guide  _ her, help her come to terms with the things she has yet to cope.”

“I understand that—”

“Do you know that she searched within the Force to find me, yesterday?” Luke didn’t allow Kenobi to speak, so caught up in his flow of consciousness he was. “She has  _ no  _ training in the Force, and yet she managed to find me after I had disappeared on her. And she doesn’t speak about it, because she’s afraid of it, of  _ herself _ . I don’t know how to guide her if she won’t confide in me.”

Ben sighed visibly. “Your lack of patience once again clouds your vision, Luke. It is your duty, both as a Jedi and as her  _ brother,  _ to support her through her troubles, not force her into something she doesn’t want for herself. Do not allow her to concede to your teachings because of your insistence on the matter — only time and herself will ordain her path. Not you. She should only seek the Force when she finds peace within herself.”

Luke thought of his sister, wondering if she would ever achieve that peace that his old mentor was talking about. He  _ hoped  _ so, he hated seeing her troubled, but he wasn’t naïve — there was still a long way for Leia to overcome.

He closed his eyes momentarily, burying the memory of his sister in the safety vault of his mind he secured for her only. His eyelids flashed open in a rush once he remembered Obi-wan Kenobi’s ghost next to him, and how Ben was faded to leave whenever he judged Luke no longer needed his acumen.

“Ben,” he cried softly, “There’s something else.”

Old Ben waved his hand, waiting.

“It’s… About my mother.”

Luke thought he saw a flick of pain through his mentor’s face, but it disappeared all too fast for him to judge it correctly.

“What about her, Luke?”

For the first time in  _ weeks,  _ Luke restrained himself as he said, “My mother is alive.”

“I’m afraid that’s not true, Luke,” Ben Kenobi replied coldly. “I understand you want her to be, but the truth is that she died, immediately after you were born. She died fighting for what she believed. She died alongside the Republic.”

“You’re lying to me,” Luke shook his head negatively, a quiver of anger passing through his body. “You’ve already lied too much to me, I see straight through your lies now, Ben.  _ My mother  _ is  _ alive. _ ”

Rather than losing his own patience, Ben simply crossed his arms against his chest, “And what makes you believe that? What brings you this much conviction?”

The condescending tone used against him made his eyes burn with rage. “Padmé Naberrie came back for me. For Leia and I. She walks and breathes and lives next to me every day.”

Ben’s silent surprise offered the last Jedi enough of an answer.

“She isn’t quite happy, you know,” Luke carried on, sharing the grief of his mother. “She thought we were  _ dead.  _ Only learned of us when a guy named Luke Skywalker was announced to have defeated Vader and Palpatine and she connected the dots. Came back in a rush, dropping to her knees and asking for forgiveness for abandoning us. Forgiveness she shouldn’t  _ have  _ to ask, for we were stolen from her without her awareness.”

Rather than verifying or denying his assertion, Ben prompted, “Is that how you feel, Luke?”

“Damn right it is!” Luke all but shouted. He didn’t like swearing, the words tasted foul on his mouth, however — they suited his mood so  _ right.  _ “I was  _ stolen  _ from her. I could have grown up under her and her love! Instead, I was thrown into the  _ wolves _ .”

“The Lars loved you—”

“Bullshit!” he yelled and — there it was, the cursing again. “Uncle Owen took me  _ in,  _ and that was it. Aunt Beru loved me, sure, but there’s just so much she could have done to make up to Uncle Owen’s mistreatment of me.”

Rather than reacting at all, Ben incited, “Your upbringings have made you the person you are today, Luke. The Jedi that you’ve become.”

Luke blew a puff of air between his lips, “Then imagine,  _ just imagine  _ the person I would have become if I had been raised by someone who actually wanted me, who would have loved and cared for me under any circumstances…!”

“You know better than to dwell on things that could have happened,” Ben lectured, and when the young boy only shifted in his anger, the retired Jedi provoked, “What would you like me to say, Luke?”

“I want the truth,” he snapped. “I want you to tell me, to my face, that you were heartless to the point of stealing babies from their mother…!”

Ben’s lack of physical response was starting to get on Luke’s nerves — he wouldn’t display a single emotion, and Luke felt certain disdain for the man he had once considered  _ everything  _ to him. 

“It happened a long time ago, Luke.”

“So now you’re too old to remember?!” Luke scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Well.  _ Padmé  _ remembers. She doesn’t speak about it, because she’s so determined to focus on having us  _ now,  _ but I know that her pain will never be erased. You were her friend, Ben! How could you have done this to her? To drop her barren in some pointless world and let her deal with the loss of everything on her own?!”

“The truth is hardly ever so simple, Luke,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

“Then how about some enlightening here?!” Luke insisted, “Because I am  _ sick  _ of all the lies that compose my life.”

For the first time, Ben Kenobi gave him  _ something.  _ He walked towards Luke and sat next to him in bed, and the boy kept his eyes forward to show him his contempt. Ben was contained with Luke’s vile reaction.

“I was there with Padmé as she gave birth to you and your sister. I won’t go into detail on what happened before, because that’s Padmé’s story, not mine, but I was there with her. I stood by her side — she was so weak and lifeless, the medical droid stated that she had lost her will to live. She was barely conscious, a little out of herself, and she focused all that was left of her strength to deliver her children to the light. First, a little boy she called Luke, then, a little girl she called Leia. She told me, very bravely, that was still good in Anakin, and the last thing I heard her say, as she drew a very tired breath, was a request that we, Bail Organa and I, wouldn’t leave her children alone. Bossed us, really, and we left her alone to tend to you and your sister. That was the last time I saw her.”

Luke listened carefully, however — he wasn’t that naïve boy from Tatooine anymore. He knew better than to accept everything that he was told without an ounce of wariness.

“I left Bail with you in a separate room, and when I came back to check on Padmé, the medical droid told me that Padmé had died. Simple as that; she had drawn her last breath.”

Luke fussed his brows together.

“But?”

“The Force works in mysterious ways, Luke,” Ben taught him. 

“That doesn’t mean  _ shit _ .”

Ben nodded gracefully. “A working medical droid doesn’t make mistakes. A medical droid mustn’t make mistakes, because mistakes cost people lives. And there I had a perfectly working droid, stating that Padmé had died.”

“But you knew better than that,” Luke inferred, “You  _ sensed  _ that Padmé was still alive. You felt her presence in the Force.”

“As I said, the Force works in mysterious ways.”

Luke shook his head, “You keep saying that, but that doesn’t make  _ sense _ .”

“It doesn’t make sense to those who are scared of the answer it so obviously gives,” Ben warned him, and sighed. “Indeed, I sensed Padmé’s presence within my reach. Barely there, but there nonetheless. However, when you see something that is not meant to be occurring in front of you, you tend to think that — greater forces are working to achieve something bigger than you can imagine.”

Luke swallowed hard, wrapping his arms around himself in discomfort. Vividly, he remembered Leia’s discourse with Padmé from their dinner, where she had so eloquently asked if her father would have been able to trade ethics for the common good. It hadn’t bothered him back then, because it hadn’t been  _ his  _ father, but now — he understood her pain.

“You knew that Padmé was alive, and you allowed us to be taken from her. You allowed Leia and I to be separated from each other, even!” he nearly yelled, “And here you were, hypocritically telling me that you don’t believe in destiny.”

“Destiny doesn’t exist, Luke,” Ben said, quite calm. “But when the Force tells me something, I  _ listen. _ ”

“No, the Force isn’t cruel,” Luke denounced, “The Force would never cause pain to individuals for the sake of a larger picture. You listened to what  _ you  _ wanted to hear. You saw Leia and me as political pawns, and for that, you gambled with our entire lives.”

Ben remained silent.

“And the worst is, you could have left us with our mother, and still raise us to be the warriors that you had depicted,” Luke cried, “Padmé would have stood right by you as we grew to be the people who destroyed the Empire. Instead, you stole her from us. As if that hadn’t been enough, you stole my sister from  _ me.  _ How do you live with yourself?”

“I did what I thought was right. Yoda agreed with me,” he said, although nothing in his voice indicated that he was trying to defend himself. He had simply — made peace with his choices. 

“Of course, Yoda had to be behind it as well,” Luke grunted, getting up at last — he couldn’t  _ stand  _ being so near the person that he had once trusted with his life. “That’s why the Jedi Order fell. Because you couldn’t bear to look past your own interests. Fuck the lives of two innocent babies, who had the misfortune of being born in the middle of it all. So long as you got your way—”

He was rambling, he was  _ fuming  _ — he didn’t care anymore. He was angry, because he could have had  _ everything,  _ while still growing up to be the Jedi that would take down Darth Vader.

“Leaving you with Padmé was dangerous. If Vader or Palpatine came to learn that she had lived, that  _ you  _ had lived, they would have marched into hell if it meant killing Padmé for once, and bringing you and your sister under their power,” Ben elaborated. “If somehow they found Padmé, because she would refuse to stand down for what she believed in, and the only information she’d be able to pass on was that Vader had killed her child in her womb — you’d still be safe.”

Luke crossed his arms. He refused to accept that things were so simple. He had grown to know better than that.

“Separating you and your sister — it was too dangerous to keep you together. Together, your presence in the Force would be too strong, and the Emperor would have immediately sensed it, and terminated you, as he did with all the other Force sensitive children in the galaxy. And they weren’t the children of Anakin Skywalker, the chosen one. Furthermore, if Palpatine did suspect Anakin’s child had lived, he would have found one of you, but because nobody knew that Padmé had been carrying twins, the other one would have remained safe in anonymity.”

The young boy felt the first prickle of tears surfacing his eyes.

“If you really feared us being found, you wouldn’t have placed Leia in Alderaan, in the middle of the galaxy, right under Palpatine’s nose,” and his eyes widened, and he turned to face his mentor again in petrified horror. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To have Palpatine sense Leia,  _ kill  _ her, and I’d be safe to carry the Jedi legacy.”

“That is far from the truth,” for the first, a glimpse of anger flicking through his voice. “I’d never willingly danger either yours or Leia’s life. Queen Breha couldn’t conceive, Alderaan needed an heir, and the Organas were kind enough to offer her a home. Despite all the danger that Leia was ought to bring them, they still  _ chose  _ her. If it makes any difference to you, Bail Organa didn’t know that Padmé still lived. He had no reason to mistrust the medical droid.”

Gazing down, Luke sniffed. That fact didn’t make him feel any better, but he stored the precious information meticulously in his mind. It would make  _ all  _ the difference to Leia.

“Our only  _ destiny  _ was to keep Padmé’s children safe, and alive, and that much we did right. We did it at all costs, against all odds. You were our  _ only  _ hope.”

“Padmé’s children would never remain safe if they were groomed for war,” Luke pointed out gravely. “You never cared for us, or Padmé. You only cared about us fixing your mistakes.”

“You made your own choice, Luke,” Ben replied, “So did Leia. You both followed your parents’ paths because it called for you. Not because we forced you.”

“That doesn’t alter the fact that you gambled with our lives,” Luke accused, “You left me with the Lars, when they already struggled enough to sustain themselves. You left Leia with the Organas, under Palpatine’s reach, ready to have her as bait if it came to it. Our only fortune was that the Force always cared for us.”

“The Force looked after you, of course, but so did we,” Ben interfered. “I remained on Tatooine, always watching you, in case of danger lurking — and trust me, Luke, danger came to you far more often than you were aware of.”

If only that were enough.

“What about Leia? She didn’t have anyone looking after her.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken,” he said, “In the palace of Aldera lived a Jedi, Ferus Olin. Undercover, ready to take the fall for Leia, if she exhibited any signs of being Force sensitive.”

Luke eyed Kenobi with carefulness, “What happened to them?”

“He died. Protecting your sister.”

The young Jedi bit hard on his inner cheeks, wondering if Leia were aware of that.

He breathed in several times, gathering his thoughts amidst all the information he had been offered. 

“That doesn’t change anything. I can’t forgive you for what you’ve done, Ben,” he said, regrettably. “Not now — not  _ ever _ .”

“If it is the way it is, Luke, I accept it,” Ben said. “I have done you wrong, and I apologize. Do pass on my apologies to Padmé, as well. She’s the one who hurt the most.”

Startled, Luke faced Ben Kenobi in panic, “You’re going already?”

“Isn’t that what you want?” Ben frowned. “My duty to you is complete. My duty to the living reign is concluded. It is time I ask forgiveness for my mistakes and join the peacefulness of the Force, at last.”

Luke hated himself for having to control his emotions; he despised himself for still caring about the old Jedi, despite all that he had just heard.

“Thank you for reaching me one last time, Ben. When I needed it the most.”

Ben Kenobi smiled tenderly at him.

“Goodbye, Luke.”

Luke never saw the ghost of his former master again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ho ho ho, sorry to all the Ben Kenobi stans out there. Whelp, I needed _someone_ to be the bad guy and hide the twins from Padmé, and Ben suited the role perfectly. Ops.
> 
> As always, do consider leaving a comment. You inspire me, and you help to guide where this story goes.
> 
> If you're lurking, have been lurking for a while, don't be shy and come say hello! Your feedback is so important to me.


	21. Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm updating this again, in case you've got two email notifs, because for some reason ao3 didn't bump up my fic in the tags. Praying that it works this time.
> 
> Also, someone asked me if we could have some chapters of PEACE, so I'm here to announce that the next couple of chapters coincidentally are all about peace and bonding and fluff and cuteness and all those things lmao

When Padmé once again woke up in the middle of the night to merciless knocks against her door, her immediate thought was — _not again._

Then, a frown took over her face. If her short stay at the rebel headquarters had proved her anything — rebellion fighters valued their sleep above _anything._ If someone was knocking on her door during the dawn, then it could only mean bad things.

It reminded her of the Clone Wars.

She quickly jumped to her feet and grabbed her robe, pulling it tight over her nightgown. The door hissed open and, like a deja vu, Padmé saw one of her children standing in front of her.

 _Luke._ With his arms wrapped around himself and his cheeks red, as if he had been crying. Her heart ached at the image of him there, so small and vulnerable.

"Luke?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know where else to go. What to do," Luke said, his voice lower than a whisper — hoarse and tired. Like he had just lost a battle to himself.

"You don't have to apologize," Padmé quickly assured, stepping aside, "Come on in."

Still, he looked a little uncertain. "Is Ameera there? I don't want to bother even more than I already am."

"You're not a bother, Luke," she said in her usual sweet tone. "Ameera's off-planet. You can come in."

Although he seemed to struggle with the idea a little more, he caved in — after all, he _had_ gone to her. Turning back wasn't an option anymore. He came in, feeling a little awkward to be there until Padmé placed her hand on the small of his back and his tension escaped him.

"What's troubling you, Luke? I'm here."

He shook his head relentlessly; it was silly, it was stupid, it was ludicrous—

It was how he felt.

"My whole life has been a lie, Padmé," he confessed, his words shaking. "I… I don't think I know who I am anymore."

Padmé stepped in front of him; he was looking down, but, considering how small she was next to him, it didn't matter. "Your trajectory in life doesn't dictate the person that you are. _You_ make the choices for yourself — and you've chosen to be this kind, selfless, beautiful young man. Nobody gets to steal that from you."

Once again, the young Jedi felt tears cornering in his eyes. "They already stole everything else."

Looking at him a little funny, Padmé instructed that he should sit down on her bed. It was warm and cluttered, and Luke wondered if that was how a mother's bed should feel like when a young child rushed into their parents' bedroom in the middle of the night for frivolous issues that naturally scared children.

He wondered if his issue was also frivolous. He hoped that Padmé, his _mother,_ would help him with that.

"I just saw Ben Kenobi," he said, anxiously keeping his arms to himself. "For the last time, I think."

Padmé simply gazed at him. She wasn't aware of the phenomenon that allowed _Force Ghosts_ to be, and she knew better than to comment on things she didn't know about.

"I thought I would be sadder that I'm never seeing my mentor again," he rambled, a little guiltily. "I _can't._ Not after the things he told me. I have no empathy for him anymore."

"I don't think that's true, Luke," Padmé inferred, gently rubbing his forearm up and down. "I think you still care deeply for Obi-wan, and that makes it hurt even more than it should."

Luke looked at her again, his eyes somehow bluer than the usual. "Is that how you feel about Anakin? Knowing that he became Vader, and did all those terrible things?"

"Y-yes," she replied, a little hesitant because — nothing ever was that simple. She hated Vader as much as she loved Anakin. "Obi-wan never fell to the Darkside, Luke. Whatever he's done… I'm certain it is justified."

"It's not," Luke imposed, strongly, unlike his entire composure so far. " _Nothing_ would ever justify someone willingly robbing a mother of their children."

Padmé all but stopped breathing. She could no longer move, and her fingers rigidly held to Luke's arm. Her heart pounded inside of her; _no,_ that couldn't be true, Obi-wan was her friend…! He wouldn't—

"I'm sorry, mother," he said, softer than before, although it was unclear whether he said it because he sensed the sudden shift in her emotions or for his reasons. "I—I didn't want to believe it either."

When she didn't respond, Luke turned around towards her and threw himself towards her, in a tight embrace. Comforting her as much as her presence comforted him. Startled as she was — Padmé held him back.

"It isn't fair, mother," he spoke against her hair, unsure of how much more he would be able to keep himself together. "I could have had you my entire life. They stole that from me. From _us_."

"We have each other now," she replied, her voice betraying her. Trying to convince him as much as she tried to convince herself. "That should be enough."

He did his best not to shook his head — it wasn't. It might have been before either of them learned that they had been purposefully been kept about, but the realization _hurt._ It made them weep for all the things they could but would never have.

"I needed so badly to believe that Ben, nor Yoda, wouldn't do this. Wouldn't be so _heartless_ ," he choked on his words. "I wanted to believe in the good in people. Once again, I've suffered the consequences."

"Oh, Luke," Padmé cried, pulling apart just enough to cup his face and kiss his forehead tenderly, with several little pecks of love. "That's who you _are._ Nobody can steal you of your capability for love, for forgiveness, for _good._ Not even those who have hurt you the most."

"I don't like being like this," he confessed, tightly. "People take advantage."

With her thumbs, she wept his first tears away. "They do. They will, so long as you breathe. But that shouldn't be a reason for you to change the essence of your being. Because of this essence of yours… It makes you better than all those that have abused their power towards you."

She thought of her tragedies, and how nobody had even bothered to tell her that her children were alive, although she would never see them again. She would have much rather that knowledge — she would willingly give them up if she thought it would keep them safer. Instead, nobody had given her the benefit.

"It's so hard. I'm tired of being hurt," Luke said, struggling to look at her for more than a few seconds at a time. "My heart breaks at the notion that so many lives were shattered, _destroyed,_ all because a few individuals decided they could orchestrate fate."

Padmé felt shivers running down her body; her face became white. "What did Obi-wan tell you, Luke?"

Bravingly, Luke removed her hands from his face and brought them to his chest, close to his heart. Assuring both of them that they were alive.

"That the medical droid told him that you were dead, but he _felt_ you alive. He saw it as a sign of the Force and chose to _believe_ you were dead. He didn't care about you, or Leia and I. We saw a chance to turn us into his pawns — pawns of the Force — and for that, I will _never_ forgive him."

Padmé looked at him with her kind and gentle eyes. "I think, Luke, that you're struggling so much because you already _have_."

"Not at all," he was astonished at her assertion, "I was an infant, and he took away everything that I needed. A mother, love and care—"

"You forgave Vader," she interrupted. "Despite all the evil he did, you _forgave_ him. Why wouldn't you forgive the man that you looked up to, that committed one crime only in his life?"

Luke shook his head. "Ben hadn't fallen to the dark side. He did it in the name of the light."

Padmé sighed.

"Would you?" Luke asked, "Forgive him? Forgive _Vader_?"

"I will never forgive Vader," she confessed in a whisper. "Vader took you away from me as much as Obi-wan did."

Nodding, he felt good with her answer. Some things weren't meant to be forgiven — not even if they had been done in the name of the better good.

"I'm so mad, Padmé," he said, his eyes burning with the rage of his tears. "You were there, alive and healthy, and they killed you in your life and threw me in the middle of the desert with a man who didn't even want me! And then, I find myself _jealous_ of Leia, because she was given to a family who wanted her, who loved and cared for her without an ounce of selfishness. They gave her everything, and I barely had any water to drink. And I _hate_ myself for feeling like that because Leia is my sister, she's—she's my best friend, and it's not her fault! But couldn't they have kept at least _one_ of us with you? Would that be too much to ask?"

Unprepared for the flow of his emotions so rapidly coming at her, Padmé found it hard to keep her composure. Because he was right — it wasn't _fair._

"Beru loved you, Luke," Padmé reminded him, although — she couldn't speak for the dead woman. She only reiterated Luke's words to her, _hoping_ they meant something to make a difference. "She gave you everything she could."

"But she wasn't my mother!" he yelled and flushed as soon as he heard himself. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I love Aunt Beru, and I'm thankful for everything that she did for me, but—"

"She wasn't your mother," Padmé smiled sadly.

"No," he conceded with an exhale. "Maybe because Uncle Owen never allowed her to be, but… She was my Aunt, and he was my Uncle. I was their foster child. I wasn't even entitled to their name."

She heard the pain in his voice, and it broke her heart. She wanted to free him of his sorrows, and the notion that she couldn't hurt more than a physical wound. "I'm sorry, Luke."

"The blame is not yours to take," he all but snapped, and the ruthlessness of it illustrated the depth of his rage. "You're the victim here. You were the one who suffered the most. You were left completely alone, without your children, without your husband. You were forgotten as you'd never mattered."

Padmé swallowed hard with this description; he was feeling everything that she forbade herself to feel.

"I'm sure Obi-wan offered you his reasons. An _explanation_."

"Yeah," Luke rolled his eyes. "All crap."

His statement caught her so by surprise that she — laughed. Snorted, and he was obliged to do the same.

"Try me."

With an exaggerated gasp, Luke threw his hands in the air. To encourage him, Padmé gestured for him to lie down — and he did, with his head on her lap, with little to no decor. They rarely ever expressed a physical relationship, in which they would be completely comfortable with it, but, being there, seeking his mother's comfort even at a grown age — it felt personal, it felt good, it felt _right._ It was everything that Luke ever dreamed of.

"He said he did it to keep us safe," he said with a mocking tone, "But I don't believe that. I was placed under my biological uncle's care, baring my _father's_ name…! And Leia—Leia was adopted into the heart of the Empire, with Bail Organa inserted in the middle of Palpatine's political games…! We were _never_ safe. Not like that."

"Weren't you?" Padmé instigated. "Nothing ever happened to you."

"I—" he stuttered. "Leia lost her entire world because of who she is."

"Yet, she lives," she said, a little selfishly. "Leia lost her homeworld because she refused to stand down to oppression. Alderaan is gone because of who Leia is — a fierce girl with too much fire inside of her. Not because, by blood, she's a Skywalker."

Luke remained silent.

"Sometimes, the greatest covers that exist are the ones that stare at you right in the face," she elaborated. "I say that because, many years ago, I deceived the Jedi with the simplest trick. I made fools out of them because they never glanced further than the obvious."

This time, Luke's eyes brightened with interest. "Do tell me, mother."

Padmé laughed at his enthusiasm, proceeding to tell him the story, while gently running her fingers through his golden hair.

"It happened a long time ago, back when I had just been appointed as the Queen of Naboo. The Trade Federation had sieged my home planet, and their leader wanted me to sign a treaty that would legitimize the invasion in the eyes of the Republic — well, _politics,_ and I know how much you dislike politics, so I'll try to be brief."

"I don't _dislike_ politics—I'd just rather leave them to the people who understand them," he said with a shrug. "Like you and Leia."

Padmé chuckled lightly at his assertion. "You always seem a little distant whenever your sister and I talk politics."

"That's because I fear for my _life,_ " he said with exaggeration. "You don't talk politics—you _argue_ politics. I'm not crazy enough to get between you two, with my obtuse point of view nonetheless!"

This time, she laughed louder and freely.

"Well, then," she carried on, "Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-wan Kenobi came down to Naboo, to try to negotiate with the Trade Federation — and, much like myself, they weren't kindly received. They helped me escape, but our ship was badly damaged and we had to stop for repairs in Tatooine."

The sparks in his eyes went in a different direction. "Is there where you met my father?!"

"Indeed," she conceded with a nod, "You see, as a Nabooian Queen, I would always wear the most beautifully crafted dresses, the most exquisite hairstyles, and the most extravagant makeup. My face was painted in white, and I wore these hair apparatuses that were meant to the public eye, so they would stare at this unreachable image of me, instead of my _face_. It's meant so people that merely looking at appearances wouldn't be able to see _past_ my appearance. It was impossible to lose me in a crowd, and, therefore, I was never unaccompanied. Part of my safety relied on my handmaidens, who were always by my side. My _decoys,_ with whom I would offer trade places, so I would be able to gather information without being handed down like a Queen. Just a normal person, who would do everything in the name of the Queen — such as, for example, going off to explore Tatooine with Master Qui-gon while my decoy stayed behind, perfectly safe, pretending to be me."

He was smiling brightly like a fool, _impressed._ "And he fell for it?"

Padmé made a face. " _Well_ —Qui-gon didn't, he sensed something was _off_ when I kept asking too many questions, in the name of the Queen. But he went along with my story, which allowed me to fool everyone else — _including_ Obi-wan Kenobi. You should have seen the look on his face when I revealed my true identity."

Luke felt warm at her story. Learning of his mother's _history,_ and — he couldn't wait to tease Ben Kenobi about it. Until he remembered, and everything was cold again.

"That was really clever of you, mother."

Her expression, although still kind, fell in the slightest. "People— _friends of mine_ died because of it. Protecting me, by pretending to be me. That's not something I take pride in."

"I'm sorry," he said, genuinely.

"Not your fault to take," she quipped, making his words from earlier hers. "What I'm trying to say is, Vader would never go looking for an heir in Tatooine because Anakin _hated_ Tatooine. It was also universally known that Queen Breha couldn't conceive, so it didn't come as a shook that Bail Organa, who had been so deeply involved in the war, would rescue an orphan and bring them home, especially when the Organas had little to no connections to Anakin Skywalker. It was _too obvious,_ and it saved both of you."

"Do you honestly believe it's that simple?" he provoked, staring up at her. "Do you think it makes up for what they did to you?"

"Nothing will ever make up for it," she confessed with a tight heart. "Learning that I could have at least _known_ of you — it makes me sad, it makes me _mad._ But if there's one thing that I've learned ever since I arrived here is that no amount of begging or wishing will allow time to be rewritten. I want to be bitter about it, I want to _grieve_ for it, I want to shout and cry. But you know what I've realized?"

Innocently, he asked, "What?"

"That dwelling on the mistakes of the past robs me of my time with you," she replied widely. "I'm not going to live forever, Luke, I don't know how much time I have left. I've already missed twenty-three years of you, I _refuse_ to get so caught up in things that could have been so that I miss what I have now."

He tried to smile; instead, what he got was eyes full to the brim.

"You're not going to die."

Padmé made a face. "Luke, I know that you're almost 23, but do I need to give you the death talk?"

Her remark had been so sharp that it scared his tears away, making him laugh.

She beamed at him brightly, knowing that she could have cheered his spirits after he had come to her looking like he had lost the war. Her thumb caressed the skin of his forehead lovingly, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat from the vein throbbing against his temples.

It reminded her of life.

"I love you, Luke," she said hoarsely. "Don't ever forget that, even once I'm gone. You're the little boy that visited me in my dreams every right."

He smiled shyly. "I love you too, mother."

"You came here tonight saying that you didn't know who you were anymore," she said, "Bear in mind that knowing who you are doesn't come from finding where you come from. It comes from finding yourself. And I think you have, Luke. You found a place to make your stand, and you found people willing to stand with you. You don't do it for yourself, you do it because it's _right_ , and you're willing to fall where you stand, if it comes to it. You don't need me, or Obi-wan, or Yoda, to remind you of who you are."

He was silent, shivering under her words.

"You already know."

His breathing was loud as he struggled to accept the words that had been given to him. In his self-consciousness, he turned to his side, evading looking at her in his discomfort while still under the safety of her gaze.

Although he stared at the blank wall, his eyes didn't focus there as he confessed, "I was going to turn myself in. For my war crimes."

Unlike his expectation, she didn't lose her posture. Luke sensed her tense in the Force, he felt the muscles of her legs rigid under his head, and her motions of tenderness froze mid-air. Yet, as much as she struggled with her emotions, her voice was calm and didn't betray her.

"What changed your mind?"

"I realized that I was running away. That I was backing from my responsibilities with this galaxy," he said, his thumb tracing invisible lines in the fabric over her knees.

And just like that — she could breathe again. If Luke had come to her and said that he was indeed going to turn himself in, she didn't think she'd react properly. She would have gone _insane_ at the knowledge that she had just gotten him back to see him going away again. It was selfish, she _knew_ as much, but she wasn't ready to let go of him. Not now, not ever.

"It takes a lot of courage to evade the easier path," she beamed, quietly.

"I thought I was doing the right thing. I really did," he replied sincerely, "I still think that I owe the galaxy for all the harm that I've brought to it, justified or not. But the only way I'll ever pay my debt is by staying here and fighting. Assuring the galaxy of the safety that we all gave our lives for, so long as I live."

In relief, her hand soothed his skin again.

"Leia helped me see that, anyway," Luke scoffed to himself. "She said the same thing that you just did. That I need to find a place to make a stand, _my_ stand, instead of hiding behind my mistakes. Of course, It's _Leia_ —she was a lot meaner and harsher than you, but I guess I needed to hear that, in her tone."

Padmé chuckled ruthlessly — yeah, sounded exactly like Leia.

"Your sister cares deeply for you, Luke," she said, "Don't ever forget that, either."

"I won't. I promise."

"Speaking of Leia," Padmé's tone changed all of sudden; from its warmth, it became _distant_. "Did Bail—When you talked to Obi-wan about the _kidnapping,_ did you learn if Bail Organa knew of it as well?"

"He didn't," Luke was quick to provide. "Ben was quite clear about that. Bail never knew that you were still alive. Is that a good thing?"

"It is," Padmé smiled sadly. "You need to go tell Leia. She needs to know about this as well."

Although they had never mentioned it again, after their quarrel back that dinner night, Padmé knew very well that the idea still haunted Leia. From what she had gathered, both from the young princess and from little excerpts exchanged with Mon Mothma, Leia Organa worshipped her father in her adolescence — and her adolescence had barely ended when Bail Organa died. The wound was still fresh, and Padmé didn't doubt that the possibility of Leia's father having all but kidnapped an infant only hurt her more.

"Okay," he conceded, although he didn't move a muscle. "Do I need to go now?"

Padmé tilted her head, considering. Were she in the princess' shoes, she would have liked to know immediately, regardless of the inconvenience of the hours. Then again, it was the middle of the night, and they were all overdue to some extra hours of peaceful slumber after the events of the previous night.

"No, let her sleep," she came to a serene conclusion. "You can tell her in the morning."

"Alright," he replied, burying his head deeper into her lap — like a child ready to go to sleep. "Can I stay here for a little longer, though? I just—I don't really want to be alone right now."

She rested the palm of her hand against the curve of his neck, feeling his heartbeat pulsating. "Stay for as long as you need, Luke."

Smiling broadly to himself, Luke closed his eyes.

* * *

When morning came, Luke found himself entering the Millennium Falcon with coy steps.

He wasn't proud to say that he had fallen asleep on his mother's bed the previous night — well, maybe he was a little. He hadn't intended to, but the calming sound of her breathing and her gentle fingers muffling through his hair provided him a sensation of peace he couldn't quite explain. It was like everything he had dreamed of in his childhood, during those countless nights of poor sleep because he couldn't shake off the earning of having a mother and a father to look after him, like all his playmates.

 _Stop that,_ he scolded himself. There was no point dwelling in the past. He needed to learn to look only to the future.

He left Padmé asleep in Ameera's cot, considering he had stolen her bed. He didn't want to disturb her more than he already had, although he _knew_ she didn't mind. She was as desperate as him to reconnect.

Still, it was too early when he sneaked out of her bunk, the first rays of sunshine just flicking through the dark halls of the rebel base. She could use a few extra hours of slumber; besides — she looked so peaceful that he wouldn't dare to disturb her.

It was early, and Luke couldn't have any material evidence that his sister was awake as well. Empirically, however — he tried to reach her with the Force and was met immediately with her shoving him out, demanding him to stick up his nose in affairs that belonged to him only. Empirically, she was _very_ much awake.

Which was why he found himself pestering the privacy of the Falcon, looking for her. Or looking for Han, who could pinpoint where Leia was, in case she had already been up and running. Or looking for Chewie, who would tell him whether Leia and Han had spent the night aboard or not.

The being that first saw him, though, was so startled to see Luke there, unexpectedly, that they jumped high enough to have drops of the kaff on the cup in their hands fall to the ground.

" _Sith,_ kid, a little warning next time," Han Solo scolded, looking down at the new stains in the ground and deciding to clear them away with his barefoot — which only ended with him slightly cursing under his breath when its steam burned the sole of his feet.

Luke gave him a look that said, "Very clever, Han," and then proceeded to ask for his sister's whereabouts.

"Yeah, she's here," Han agreed. "I wouldn't go to her just now, though. She's in a mood."

Luke frowned, then — that'd explain why she had so abruptly shut her mind from him, and he made a face of passive understanding.

"Did you have a fight?" he ingenuously asked, forgotten that couples didn't exactly enjoy others prying in their private relationship. By then, it was too late.

A little bit annoyed, Han crossed one of his arms across his chest, over his loose shirt, while the other hung the cup of kaff in the air. "No, we didn't."

"Okay," he conceded, with a small pout. "I'll just ask her, then."

Han rolled his eyes, "I just told you. She's in a mood, it's better to leave her alone."

With half a smirk, Luke pointed to his head, "It's okay. I'll just ask her here," and closed his eyes to fulfill his threat.

The smack that Han gave to his upper arm was all it took to bring him back. Han dared, "Don't do that. It's _creepy_."

Luke merely scoffed. "Come on, Han. Is Leia _really_ moody or did you do something that made her angry at you?"

The glare of the smuggler said that he could _never_ do anything wrong in his life. When Luke scoffed again, Han was obliged to give in. "We didn't—fight per se. She's just—Leia learned that I told Padmé that she wasn't _fine_ and apparently that's the betrayal of the century."

Luke grimaced, "Well, did you?"

"I… Sorta? I don't know," Han stuttered, keeping his voice low so Leia wouldn't overhear him. "Remember, that catastrophic dinner happened and she brought Padmé to meet me, and when Leia was away making tea, we talked about Leia's _refusal_ to talk. Something like that."

Suspiciously, Luke shot both his eyebrows up, "That was _weeks_ ago."

Wrinkling his nose, Han nodded. "Yeah. Apparently, Padmé told Leia that I told her that, and Leia didn't exactly appreciate it."

"But you didn't fight 'per se'" he quoted those words with his fingers in the air.

"No. Not really," Han admitted. "It's just—a little tense, as of now. With everything happening."

"Everything?" Luke wondered, receiving a glance from Han's that meant _everything,_ everything. From the political state of the galaxy to the smothering mother trying to mother her. Shrugging, Luke decided it was best to talk to her herself, and gave Han a pat in the shoulder as he passed by.

"Where are you going?" Han nearly shouted, not appreciative of the Jedi simply owing up to his ship. "I just told her, she's in a mood—"

"Yeah. With _you_ ," Luke replied, not bothering himself to turn around to face him again. "So long as _you_ don't disturb our conversation, I believe we'll be fine."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes again, Han went to find something broken to mend in the meantime — or something mended to break.

Luke found Leia sitting by herself at the hologame table. Distracted, lost within her own thoughts, that she only noticed his presence there when he sat next to her.

Rather than meeting him with tenderness, she only offered him a glare. "What are you doing here?"

He pretended to be hurt at her question. "Do I need a reason to visit my sister?"

"Yes," she merciless replied, her glare insistent. "I can't remember the last time you woke up so early. _Not even_ when you're on duty you wake up this early."

Luke shot his shoulders up and down. "I was rested enough."

Which was true — he couldn't remember the last time he had slept so well, despite getting fewer hours of slumber than usual. _Thanks to Padmé,_ he figured.

Not bothered enough to argue his assessment, Leia simply let it go, choosing to better spend her time by slowly sipping the cup of tea in her hand.

Unable to let her sit there in peace, Luke carried on, "How are you?"

"I'm good, Luke. How are _you_?"

Which, of course, was far from what he meant. His question had been genuine, and she met him with mocking and disdain. Lucky, her rebuke only brought an annoyed, brotherly grin to his face.

"I'm _good,_ actually," he replied honestly, leaving all the sarcasm to his sister. "I wasn't feeling so well yesterday, but today… I am happy again."

"Good," she quipped quietly, the mug still warming her hands. "Sadness doesn't suit you. It paints your aura ignoble."

Luke looked at her with curiosity, although she still refused to meet his eyes. "I have an aura?"

Sighing to herself, Leia brought the mug back to the table. "Everybody has an aura, Luke."

"And you judge people based on their auras, for good or for worse."

"Worked so far," she visibly shrugged. "My mother always told me to trust my instincts."

He beamed broadly at that, realizing one second too late that — she wasn't talking about _their_ mother. Only hers. That notion brought him to ask, "What is Padmé's aura like?"

She shouldn't have been surprised that the question would come from him; yet, she was. Leia didn't know how to answer him, to give him the satisfaction of the answer he wanted to hear, but because Padmé Naberrie remained the one person whose impression remained clouded under Leia's judgment. Not because she was a bad person — fair from that — but Leia's own aura endured conflict.

"Padmé is a good person, Luke," was all she managed to reply to in that regard. "You know that already."

 _He did._ "I ask on your behalf. Because you were so quick to dismiss her when she first came into our lives, so I wondered if your reasons were founded on something you perceived from her _aura._ "

"I have my own personal reasons," she referred to it in the present tense, because — she still had _so much_ to overcome. "Do we need to talk about this again?"

"I guess not," he gave in, quickly throwing another matter into the table. "I heard you had a fight with Han."

She turned her eyes to him so abruptly that it startled him.

"Is that what he told you?!"

Luke cleared his throat; by now, he should have taken a hint to let Leia and Han deal with their issues on their own. "No—he was quite adamant that you _didn't_ have a fight. Only that, hm, he did some stuff and you felt betrayed by it."

She looked at him so intensively that he felt naked under her eyes. "He didn't _betray_ me. He broke my trust, and I forgave him."

He arched one of his brows, "How is that any different?"

"Han didn't betray me, because his intentions were good. Han, as always, did what he thought would be best for me. That's his only concern, my eudaimonia," she confessed with a tight heart, "But when I confide in Han, I expect him to respect our relationship, to respect _me,_ and keep my sorrows to ourselves. I need to _know_ that I can unconditionally trust Han, without having him run away to another person to rat out my issues the moment things get — _rough_."

He stared at her in discomfort, wondering what she had truly meant with that last sentence.

"But I forgave him. I _told_ him, with dull words, that I forgave him," Leia made a gesture with her hand. "I don't know why he's running away from me, though."

In a small act of benevolence, Luke gave her shoulder a tight squeeze. Whether she appreciated his effort, he couldn't tell, but she didn't pull away. "Han is just trying to be helpful. I understand where your restraints come from, but all Han ever does is to look out for you. In the best way he can, even if it means doing something against your will."

He felt her shivering under his touch due to his last choice of words, and couldn't comprehend why.

Her voice became lower than before, "Han needs to understand that _helping_ me doesn't mean he needs to fix me. All he needs to do to help me is to hold my hand when I need it the most."

Luke conceded with a small bow. "Well, have you told him that?"

Indecorously, Leia buried her chin on her hand. "No. I don't think I have."

"Do it, then," he brought his hand back to himself at last, "You can't expect something from Han that he isn't aware he's supposed to give."

"I guess," another deep exhale, and she concluded the focus of the conversation had rested on her for far too long. "You said you weren't having a good day yesterday."

"Yeah, about that," Luke became a little rigid on his seat and reminded himself to _breathe._ "That's why I'm here."

Leia gazed at him with suspicion, "You're not here to discuss another great idea of yours again, are you?"

He didn't need to be a genius to understand she was referring to his previous desire of turning himself in. "No, I've come to peace with that. You, and Padmé, helped me understand that I am bound to the galaxy by my duty."

Leia nodded, relieved to know as much.

"I came here because — Ben Kenobi visited me last night."

Her eyes widened at the prospect, but she remained composed. "Well, it was about time."

Luke scoffed lightly at it. "Yeah, well. We needed to talk, and—he gave me the answers to the questions that have been haunting me—us!—for a while now."

She didn't ask, only waited for him to find the peace within himself to recount the events of the previous night on his tempo.

"Leia, I come here bringing you this information hoping that it _will_ make a difference. That it'll help you cope with whatever you need to," he started and noticed she stopped breathing next to him. "Ben Kenobi told me — he _assured_ me — that Bail Organa didn't know that Padmé was still alive when he took you in. Your father—he didn't kidnap you, for a political cause. He chose to love you, and give you a home, and that was his only intention."

Her response was so unlike her usual demeanor that it caught him off guard. Leia took both her hands to her face, and hid herself completely. Trying to keep her emotions from him, he _knew,_ but when her body started to slightly tremble, and when she choked a desperate sob — he understood the matter hurt her much more than she let on.

In his silence, the only comfort he could offer was the gentle touch of the Force.

"I'm sorry," she said after a while, regaining enough control of herself again to lower her hands. He saw her red eyes, and the single teardrop descending her cheek, and he didn't comment on it. "I'm _sorry_ — Luke, I don't think you understand how much this means to me."

Luke reached out to touch her hand. "I understand more than you think."

She nodded vigorously. "Luke, I… My parents were everything to me. Growing up as a princess is lonely, and they were all I had. They were my _world._ The mere concept of being under their care, their _comfort,_ because of acts of tyranny and mischief… I would never be able to forgive them."

For a moment, all they could hear was her loud breathing.

"I don't think I would have the strength to hate both my fathers."

A tight feeling came to his chest. Still, despite his discomfort, he didn't let go of her hand. "I'm relieved for you, Leia. The memories you have of them, of your childhood, can never be corrupted."

She smiled gratefully at him — a thin, sad smile, only enough for him to see the appreciation there.

"Sith, I'm sorry," she apologized again, rubbing the back of her free hand against her cheek and weeping her last teardrop away from existence. She sniffed, "What aren't you telling me?"

For a brief interlude, he wondered if he were an open book, or if she were so strong in the Force she had no issue reading him. "I'm afraid I can't say the same for me."

Leia glanced at him sideways, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he paused, gathering his thoughts. After talking to Padmé the previous night, he had accepted his past, but it didn't mean it was easy to acknowledge it. "Ben Kenobi knew that Padmé was alive, as he had felt her alive in the Force, and he chose to steal us from her anyway. In the name of the greater good."

He told her everything. Everything.

"That's fucked up," was all Leia managed to reply, her throat a little constricted. She felt bad because she couldn't share Luke and Padmé's pain. She had been blessed, she was given to parents who adored her, who gave her everything — she wouldn't trade that for anything.

He chuckled lightly, surprised at her sudden lack of eloquence. "Yeah. I can't tell what's harder, the struggle of not knowing or the pain of finally knowing the truth."

She opened her mouth to say that knowledge was always for the best, that knowledge made way for the upper hand. Then, she thought of Vader, and how she wished she had never learned she was his daughter and chose to remain silent.

"Did you know Ferus Olin?"

"What—" Leia frowned, confused at his abrupt change of subject. _His coping mechanism,_ she figured. "Ferus who?!"

"Ferus Olin," he repeated, a little slower to make sure she got the name right.

Leia stared at him blankly, "Never heard that name before."

He made a face. "Are you sure? His name was Ferus Olin."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, Luke, I'm _sure._ I am diplomatically conditioned never to forget a name or a face."

"You might have encountered Ferus Olin in your childhood," he insisted, "Before your diplomatic conditioning training whatever was completed."

Sometimes, she _swore_ she could punch him. "Repeating his name won't make me suddenly remember him."

"It might," he tilted his head, and, to spite her, he said it again. "Ferus Olin."

"You can take Ferus Olin and shove him—"

Luke assumed she stopped herself before she said something obscene, something unworthy of a princess, but understood that wasn't the question when he saw the perplexed look across her face."

"Fess Ilee," she said in a whisper. Of course, it all made sense when she said _Ferus Olin's_ name aloud and heard it for herself.

This time, it was Luke's turn to be clueless. "No, Leia. Ferus Olin."

"Fess Ilee," she said it again, to prove her point. "They're the same name."

"Is there any spice in your coffee?!" he jokingly accused. "They're different names."

"No, they're not—" she shifted in her seat to properly face him and enunciate pedagogically, "Fess Ilee."

"Repeating his name won't make me suddenly hear it," he mocked her by making her word his.

Rather than paying him any attention, she said it once again, "Fess Ilee. Ferus Olin. They're homonyms."

His eyes were big and startled, "Now you're just speaking Huttese."

Leia buffed impatiently. "They sound the same. Can't you hear it?!"

He bit down on his lip, "Well, when you _threaten_ me like that…"

"Oh, Luke, you have yet to see me threatening you," she warned, and he only laughed in return. "They're the same person."

"I guess," he shrugged, still a little unconvinced. "Where do you know _Fess Ilee_ from?"

"From the Palace," she said naturally, not even needing to think. "My home, the Palace in Aldera. He was always around. Why?"

Instead of replying to her, he asked another question, "What did he do?"

This time, she froze in her place. She actually had no idea. "I… don't know? He was sort of a buffoon, I remember that he was always making me laugh. I guess I had grown so used to seeing him there, ever since I was a toddler, that I never considered asking him, or anyone else, of his purpose in the palace. Why?"

Once again, he evaded her question. "What happened to him?"

"He died," she said mournfully. "When I was fourteen, maybe fifteen. Under mysterious circumstances, if I recall correctly. He was buried in the royal cemetery for his duty to Alderaan, and… I always assumed that the Empire killed him. My parents were so desperate after his death like I had never seen them before, so I concluded that they were afraid that the Empire would come for another Alderaanian."

Luke nodded his head slowly, considering.

"Out with it, flyboy."

He sighed heavily. "I understand your parents' concern."

Leia glared at him, uneasy, but decided to let him say whatever he needed before she interrupted.

"Leia… Ferus Olin was an undercover Jedi. Hired by your parents, he was there as _bait,_ ready to take the blame for you, if you ever showed signs of being Force sensitive. I believe he died protecting you from the Empire. Your parents were indeed desperate after his death — because there was no one else left to protect you."

Suddenly, it became hard to breathe. She looked down on the table, focused on the invisible lines her fingertip was drawing, and she was as cold and straightforward as she knew how to be. "He died for me, then."

Luke wanted to interfere, to say that it wasn't like that, except — _it was._ "Yeah. I believe you somehow exhibited your strength in the Force, and when word got back to the Empire and they came after you, he took the blame. Sacrificed himself for you."

"Great," she mumbled. She was _sick_ of people dying for her, dying because of her. She had never asked for that.

To an extent, Luke couldn't understand her reaction. She was a _princess,_ had been raised as a princess — he would have assumed she had always been surrounded by people ready to give their lives for her, and, under an empire of evil and hatred, that it had happened more often than not.

"Alderaan was a peaceful world, Luke," she said quietly, like she could read his mind. "We valued beauty and art and peace above everything," behind her words, she was screaming, _why would the Empire obliterate Alderaan, Alderaan of all places?!_ , and her mind screamed back — _exactly because of that_ ; the Empire shivered under the sight of harmony. "The lives of those that protected me were never worth less than mine. We were all the same. The only difference is that I had a duty to guide and protect _them._ A duty that I couldn't fulfill."

"What you need to understand, Leia," he threaded carefully, "Is that — it didn't matter if you broke and revealed all the secrets about the rebellion. Right then, right there, it would have still been Alderaan. They would have destroyed it no matter what, because they needed to make a statement to the galaxy. And there was no better statement than to kill all that is beautiful, so only ugliness would prevail."

She swallowed hard, her emotions once again threatening to betray her. "That doesn't make it any easier, though."

"No," he agreed sadly. "I suppose it never will. But I hope it helps you understand that it was never your fault."

Leia closed her eyes briefly — she hoped so too.

From the distance, there was a sound of something crashing to the ground, then a male human screaming in pain, then that same human cursing loudly at no one in particular. The image of Han losing a battle to his ship was enough to alleviate their tension.

"Should we go to him?" Luke asked, beaming, but a little concerned.

"No, he's in a mood," Leia considered. "It's best to leave him to brood in peace."

Luke couldn't help himself — he laughed carelessly at her. " _He's_ in a mood?"

Leia grimaced, unsure of what was so funny. "Yes, Luke."

"I'm sorry, it's just—" he had to hide his smirk behind his hands, "Han told me the same thing about you."

"He _what_?!"

"Yeah, yeah," he conceded, "He warned me to go away, because you were in a mood. Mad at him, apparently."

Her eyes twitched, and she accused, "The only person I'm _mad_ at is you."

"Me?!" he shouted, high pitched. He had _not_ seen that coming. "Whatever did I do?!"

"You disappeared in the middle of the night and threw away _weeks_ of careful planning to take back the Jedi Temple, and now the High Council has put me on _babysit_ duty!"

"Babysit duty—" he frowned until the realization crept in. "You mean—babysit _me_?!"

"No, I'm supposed to babysit Han, and teach him some manners on how to address the Council in my absence," she snarled, deadpan. "Yes, _you,_ you idiot."

Luke pulled on the collar of his shirt, loosening its grip around his neck. "I'm… I'm sorry…?"

"You think you're sorry?!" Leia snapped, "Well, Luke, then as my first deed as your 'babysitter': you're grounded."

He choked on his snort, being forced to hide his amusement with his hands in front of mouth given the death glare she shot him.

"This isn't funny, Luke," she lectured him, her eyes as dead as the night. "There are _consequences_ to your actions, and you should know better than that. I understand you're a pilot, that your job is to simply wait around while the higher rankings give you orders. But, Luke, there had been _weeks_ of tactical discussion, of heated arguments and strategizing. We were finally coming up with a plan, one that served for nothing as we had to rush in to rescue _you._ Sure, we were lucky to succeed, but there was also every chance that we wouldn't. And it'd all have been for nothing."

Luke swallowed roughly, constrained.

"As if that hadn't been enough, I had to sit still as my peers, the people that I've worked so hard to respect me, berated me and reprimanded me for _your_ misdoings," her tone was hoarse, "All because I was the one to give the order. Because I put you above the rebellion."

In the end, that bothered her the most. That she had put her personal needs above her duty. Four years ago, that wouldn't have happened; she would have gladly let Luke, or Han, or _herself_ die if it meant the rebellion would thrive. _One_ year ago, that wouldn't have happened, so immersed in her grief she had been, that her only reason to go on was bringing the Emperor to his knees. Now — she was changed. She had found people that she loved more than the cause for that she had given her life and the life of her people. She wasn't so sure how to feel about that.

"You've already done so much for the rebellion, Leia," Luke considered carefully, "The High Council shouldn't crucify you for the one time you thought of yourself first."

"Yes, they should," Leia replied coldly.

Luke took a deep breath. "Have I ever told you what happened when I faced Vader and the Emperor?"

Leia eyed him suspiciously, "Do I want to know?"

"I don't know," he shot his shoulders up and down. "You can tell me afterward."

Reluctantly, Leia agreed.

"Palpatine brought me to the throne room, where I was supposed to duel with Vader. I would either kill Vader and take his place next to Palpatine, or Vader would kill me. Either way — I couldn't win. The Emperor had seen it for himself; he had carefully crafted fate so he wouldn't lose. And I was ready to die, Leia. I wouldn't fight Vader, because I saw that there was still good in him. He was _conflicted,_ and I couldn't end his life when he could willingly come back to me."

Leia stared at his profile as he told her the story, waiting for whatever moral he was trying to reach.

"But…?"

"But," he paused again, "My thoughts betrayed me. I was thinking of you, and — and Vader sensed it. He sensed your presence in my mind, and he took pride in it. He thought that, if I couldn't be turned to the dark side, then, perhaps, my twin sister would. He, alongside the Emperor, was ready to take you under his wing."

There was a funny taste in Leia's mouth, and she had already decided that that wasn't a story she would have liked to know.

"I couldn't allow that. I would _never_ let him turn you, so long as I stood," Luke confessed tightly, "Because of that, I allowed my hatred to take over me, in your name, and I lashed out at Vader. But it's okay, Leia. I would always protect you from our father's grip, even if that meant I would descend into darkness in your place."

Very rarely, in her life, Leia found it hard to sustain eye contact. At that precise moment, it was nearly impossible. "You shouldn't."

"Yes, I should," he said strongly. "As you did, I chose my twin sister over myself, over the cause that I dedicated myself to. My love for you is my weakness, yes, but it also makes me strong. Because, Leia, that's the only way we're going to win the war. By saving what we love."

Leia smiled sadly, a tight smile — one that repressed all the other emotions she couldn't allow herself to feel in public. "That's beautiful."

A little snobbishly, Luke understood her concession as acceptance. "You're not the only one good with words, you know."

Shaking her head in reprimand, her expression was carefree.

"I do love you, Luke."

He waved his hand in return. "You don't have to tell me that, Leia. I already know."

"But I do," she said, "I need you to understand that I will always put you above my duty."

"I wouldn't ask that of you, Leia."

"I know," she conceded. "That's why I'd do it."

He smiled at her, appreciating it.

"Oh, before I forget," he changed the subject again, before it became more emotional than they had previously signed up for. "I have something else to tell you, and I'm afraid you won't take it well."

Leia crooked her brows, waiting.

"Leia…" he used his sweetest tone, "I hate to break this to you, but… I'm the older brother."

Leia's chin immediately dropped, and she gave him a shove in the shoulder. "Bullshit."

He laughed, _loudly,_ so loud he was certain Han had heard it as well. "I fear it's the truth. Ben told me himself."

" _No_ ," she was fierce in her convictions. "You're mistaken."

"How so?!"

" _Nothing_ about you screams big brother," she accused, "You only exude little brother energy."

Luke snorted, "Is that what my aura tells you?!"

"Yes," she replied, "As well as everything else about you."

"Enlighten me, little sister."

She gave him a very sisterly gaze of death. "For starters, I'm the _brains_ of this kinship."

He made a face, "And your proof for that is…?"

"Well," she clasped her hands together, "Would you like me to start with how _I_ had to save our asses on the Death Star? Or would you rather I remind you of recent events, such as you storming into the Jedi Temple unprotected and getting busted by Imperials?"

Luke gave her a look, "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

Leia showed her inner lips, shooting her shoulders up and down.

"Well," he carried on, "If I'm the younger brother, then how are you going to explain that I'm incredibly taller than you?!"

She choked a laugh, "Of course you're taller than me. Have you _forgotten_ how tall Vader was? And have you failed to notice how small Padmé is?"

"That doesn't mean anything," he wrinkled his nose, "I've simply had more time to grow than you."

Buffing, Leia accused, " _That_ , Luke, is peak little brother behavior."

He feigned being hurt and started laughing again.

"I'm sorry, Leia. I just don't think you can't work this one out your genius."

"Fine. I just refuse to accept it."

" _Really_?!" he shook his head in admonition. "I don't know, Leia, that stubbornness of your _stinks_ of little sibling obstinacy."

"The smell is coming from yourself."

Smiling to himself, he simply reprimanded her with his eyes, thinking to himself _how lucky_ he was to have found her.

She smiled as well.

"Alright, then. I think I'm going to go, now. Leave you to brood in peace."

With her lips pursed in a thin line, she rolled her eyes. "Will you tell Han to stop whining and come to me?"

Grinning, he stood up and kissed the top of her head. "Of course, little sis."

"You call me that again and I'll smack you so hard you won't have any teeth left."

He threw his hands up in redemption, thinking to himself — he finally had enough ammunition to get under her nerves.

It was about time he started making up for all those missing years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it takes me over fifteen hours to write one chapter.
> 
> it takes you less than three minutes to leave a comment :)


	22. Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we finally meet a character that y'all have been begging for some time... hope it won't disappoint!

Luke’s early invasion of the Jedi temple had been more advantageous than anyone would like to admit, after all.

Having taken over the Jedi Temple back from the Imperial grasp allowed the rebel alliance no more quarrels about reestablishing political power. With the Jedi Temple in their control, they had felt comfortable enough to seize ground over the Senate building — and slowly, very slowly, started to build democracy again.

Of course, the galaxy was still at war. The remnants of the Empire still had charge of countless planets and planet systems — heck, the Empire still seized control parts of Coruscant itself — but slowly, very slowly, the rebellion would free them, one by one. In the meantime, they focused on tidying the galaxy back together, with major planets slowly and reluctantly accepting to be a part of this brand new galaxy.

Coruscant. Gatalenta. Corellia. Chandrila — Mon Mothma’s homeworld. Hosnian Prime. Kashyyyk. Kuat. Alderaan — or whatever was left of it. Slowly, very slowly, the galaxy judged it safe enough to come together again, and soon, they would be able to create something beautiful again.

Padmé was happy. Years ago, when Palpatine took power all for himself, she never thought she would see this day come again. Where hatred and fear no longer reigned — well,  _ ideally.  _ She understood there was still a long way to come, that the wreckage of the Civil War was still fresh in everybody’s life, but soon — very soon, she believed — there would be no hatred nor fear left. The New Republic would rise, having learned the flaws of its predecessor, and it would thrive again.

Everything would be all right again. Padmé knew as much. 

And on a more personal, selfish note — her life was  _ right  _ again. She had her name back, she had her children back, she had a  _ home.  _ She was happy, despite all the turmoils they still faced every day, and nothing would steal that happiness away from her.

It was mid-afternoon, and Padmé was idly walking around the rebel base, throwing small talk away with Ameera. She was supposed to meet with Luke in the hangar in the near future, and they would fly to the Senate building to celebrate Leia’s new office and position as an ambassador in the New Republic.  _ Well,  _ celebrate was a strong word, since Leia had not invited them over, or even had any idea that they were coming. Still, Padmé wished to pay her a visit, rather than just waiting for her to return to the base, and tell her how proud she was. 

Padmé understood that Leia would only like to hear those words from her parents — her  _ real  _ parents — but in their absence, she hoped her effort would suffice.

Well, suffice was also a strong word. Instead, Padmé hoped Leia would  _ accept  _ it.

“Tell me again,” Ameera prompted, with her usual apathetic tone, “How your children are  _ always  _ making trouble for everyone around them?!”

Padmé scoffed. Ameera had arrived back in Coruscant the previous day, and they were finally catching up on everything — although the Twi’lek was already aware of what had happened and how the twins were caught up in the middle of it. Apparently, the only thing that spread around the rebellion base faster than the flu was  _ gossip _ .

“Is that your conclusion after everything I just told you?!” Padmé rebuked, disbelieved but amused. 

“What else am I supposed to infer?” Ameera gesticulated wide with her arms, “Other than your children being  _ dumb  _ and setting fire to the entire galaxy?”

“You’ve met Luke,” Padmé rolled her eyes, “He’s not  _ dumb _ .”

Ameera gave her a look. “How else would you explain him getting into a building infested with Imperials with only a stick to arm himself?”

“The lightsaber is not a stick, Ameera—”

“You’re right,” she conceded. “I’ve seen Luke carrying that thing on his waist before. It doesn’t  _ even  _ have a stick.”

“That’s because—” Padmé was about to give a full detailed explanation about how a lightsaber functioned before she realized it wasn’t worth it. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

Although Ameera recognized the sarcasm in Padmé’s voice, she ignored it, instead leaning her elbow over Padmé’s shoulder. “Aw, I’ve missed you too, little sister.”

“Little sister?!” she raised one of her brows, “I’m at least 20 years your senior.”

“Yeah. But I’m at least 20 inches over your height.”

Buffing, Padmé crossed her arms over her chest, straightening her back so she would be  _ nothing more  _ than 19 inches smaller.

“How was your mission?!”

“Boring,” she threw the word out. “It was more diplomatic than anything else.”

Padmé eyed her funnily, “That’s usually a  _ good  _ thing. It means no unnecessary blood was spilled.”

“ _ Boring _ ,” Ameera repeated, louder. “Especially when said negotiations take  _ ages.  _ I’d much rather grab a blaster and be done with it.”

Padmé shook her head. “You’re aware that, from now on, most of the missions are going to be like that, right…?”

Feigning tiredness, Ameera cupped her own face with her hand. “I believe it’s time I retire.”

The queen snorted. “You’d get even more boring, then.”

“I guess,” Ameera sighed. “Honestly, I’d much rather help around here. Sweep the floor, for all I care. I’m never bored with the melodrama of your life.”

Crossed, Padmé placed both her hands on her hips. “My life is  _ not  _ a soap opera.”

“Isn’t it?!” she dared, “You give birth to twins, who are separated at birth, who you later discover that they were wrongly taken from you by the evil men—”

“Like I said,” Padmé cleared her throat, “My life isn’t a soap opera. You don’t need to recapitulate everything that happened in the past chapters for the bystanders.”

Ameera pouted. “I do admit I was a little sad to miss the past few chapters. Watching it unfold with my own eyes is much more fun than reading a synopsis out of a gossip magazine.”

“Oh, really,” Padmé prompted, “Do tell me, then, what you would have done when Luke showed up at  _ our  _ bed in the middle of the night, seeking solace?”

“Oh, that’s a nonbrainer,” Ameera waved her hand, “I would have kicked both of you out and changed the password.”

“The password to  _ my  _ bunk? That out of selflessness I decided to share with you?!”

“Don’t be silly, Padmé,” she said, “When you’re Luke Skywalker’s mother, you can get  _ all  _ the bunks you want.”

Chuckling, Padmé retorted, “I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

“Fine. Then you would have shared a chamber with Princess Leia.”

“Are you crazy,” Padmé grimaced, “Leia’s got a  _ boyfriend. _ ”

“And you’re not doing your motherly job right of getting in the way of the two of them,” Ameera accused, “Really, Padmé, that’s the basic rule of being a mother. Driving the daughter’s boyfriend away.”

Except — Padmé  _ liked  _ Han. More than she thought she would. Not only that, but Han was also a bridge between her and her daughter; she had only her gratitude to offer him. 

“I remember the first time Duaa came home with a boyfriend,” Ameera reminisced with a happy face, “She must have been what, fifteen? Something like that. And a  _ human  _ boyfriend, to my parents’ despair. Hell broke loose that day, I don’t think I had ever seen my parents so angry, or my sister so defiant, before that. Mostly, I was just having a laugh at her misfortune.”

Padmé reprimanded her with a look — of course she was.

“I think he really liked my sister. He treated her  _ right,  _ not like an animal, like the Empire saw us as. But you know,  _ parents.  _ They forbid Duaa from ever coming home with a boy again until she was of age, and that was the final law. He got so scared by my parents that he ran away crying.”

Padmé doubted that the last exaggeration was true to the letter, but she let it slide. “What did your sister do?”

By then, Ameera could no longer hide her smile. “You should have met Duaa, Padmé, she was  _ ingenious.  _ A couple of weeks later, she came home with a  _ girlfriend,  _ to horrify my parents, I’m sure. She told them that their word forbade her from ever having a boyfriend, but they had never said anything about having  _ girlfriends.  _ My parents had no choice but to sit back and swallow their tongues _. _ ”

Padmé joined her in her bliss. Apparently, that savage spirit ran in Ameera’s family.

“And the best of it,” Ameera continued, “Duaa and Zora fell in love afterward. Unintentionally or not, they fell for each other and their relationship lasted for  _ years _ .”

“What became of Zora?”

“That’s a good question,” she shrugged, “Duaa became troubled after the death of our parents, she started to… lash out a lot, in her grief. Zora said she understood, Zora was  _ patient _ , but my sister couldn’t bear to hurt the girl that she loved, so she broke up with her. Zora’s last words to Duaa was that she would be waiting for her,  _ forever,  _ as long as it took. Now, Zora doesn’t even know that Duaa is  _ dead _ .”

Padmé couldn’t fail to notice the sudden shift from happiness to sorrow in Ameera’s tone, and she felt bad for bringing it up. “Have you ever considered reaching out to her?”

“Several times,” the words flew out of Ameera’s mouth so fluidly that they impressed the Twi’lek herself. “You see, I loved Zora too. Zora was my friend, Zora was my  _ sister _ ; watching her go hurt as much as it hurt Duaa. If I came to find her only to bring bad news… It would break her, and it would break  _ me _ .”

Padmé placed her hand on Ameera’s back, trying to offer the comfort that she wasn’t certain that the Twi’lek would accept.

“I could come with you if you like,” she said. “I think seeing Zora would give you, and her, the closure that you need.”

When Ameera faced her again, Padmé could only look at the sad eyes that had never been there before. It was the same eyes that Leia had when she talked about Alderaan, it was the same eyes that Luke had when he spoke of being stolen from her. It was the kind of eyes that broke her heart.

“Would you do that for me?”

“Of course.”

Ameera nodded viciously, pressing her lips so tightly that they were white, contradicting the vivid blue of her skin. “Okay.”

Without asking for permission, Padmé stepped in and wrapped her arms around Ameera, pulling her into a hug. Ameera was surprised, stunned, her muscles were rigid as death. And, for the first time in their relationship, Ameera hugged back.

When the Twi’lek pulled away, her eyes were glossy; still, she looked at Padmé dead in the eyes and denounced, “I hate you.”

Padmé smiled to say that she didn’t mind. If people in her youth hated her in the same way that Ameera did, then her journey as a monarch and a senator would have been a most pleasant one.

“I know.”

Ameera rolled her eyes at the assertion, and swiftly regained her composure.

“So, when are we supposed to meet the troublemaker of your son?!”

Unbelieving that Ameera would so quickly snap back into her usual demeanor, Padmé returned to her slow pacing towards the hangar with a sigh. Eventually, they would get there.

“I don’t know, all Luke said was to stop by when I felt like it.”

Ameera snorted. “Thank the Force he wasn’t the child of yours to go into diplomacy. Imagine Senator Luke with five ambassadors hovering around his office because they all decided to ‘stop by’ at the same time.”

“Don’t be mean to Luke,” Padmé said, with half a smirk in her face after the imaginary. “Luke’s an angel.”

“Luke has faced both the Emperor and Darth Vader,” Ameera remembered, “I’m sure he can take a few mean words thrown at him.”

Padmé grimaced — she wasn’t so sure about  _ that _ . Luke was a sensitive boy, and she would like to preserve that on him.

“Promise you’ll behave when you see him,” Padmé demanded.

Ameera looked down on her. “You act like I’m incapable of being civil.  _ Besides,  _ I have met him before.”

“Yeah. And the first comment you threw at him was that his Jedi robes were  _ ugly. _ ”

“Ugly is an understatement,” Ameera reminisced, “Those were  _ hideous  _ clothes. You’re a  _ terrible  _ mother for letting him walk around wearing tramps.”

“It’s his  _ essence.  _ Our fashion choices tell more about ourselves than we’d believe,” Padmé said, taking a brief pause to analyze Ameera’s outfit. “For instance, you only ever wear black. That either means that you’re a goth, or that your grief took away all the colors of your life. Or, maybe, that you’re a mourning person trying to come off as a goth. But despite this grief, you’re also fearless. You’re not afraid of anything that the Empire might throw at you, because you’ve already seen all the evil that the Empire is capable of doing. Your leather top, your tight trousers, the single pendant hung in your neck — it says that you’ve got nothing else to lose.”

Ameera listened carefully, and, surprisingly, seemed to agree with everything that had been pointed out.

“Alright, then. What’s your son’s excuse for going out looking like a hobo?”

Padmé grunted exaggeratedly. “Luke’s trying to find himself, in a galaxy where he’s the last of his kind. Give him some slack, he’s already self-conscious enough as it is.”

“I’d be self-conscious too if my great ancestors told me I had to wear ridiculous clothing,” Ameera mumbled. “And he’s not the last of his kind. He’s got his sister.”

Padmé’s frown towards the matter came naturally. “Leia is not very interested in this Jedi stuff. I don’t blame her, after what I assume Vader did to her, using the Force, and — ah, I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“You’re right. You shouldn’t,” Ameera criticized, but kept her tone meek. She thought of her sister, and how she would kill Duaa if she ever told anyone about her secrets — although, she supposed, it was different if Leia had never confined Padmé about anything, and Padmé was merely passing on her insights on the situation. “I remember briefly what it was like when the princess was rescued, after Alderaan. It was all messed up.”

Padmé swallowed roughly, a wave of nausea coming down on her. “I don’t assume she would advertise whatever had happened.”

“No, but… People  _ talk _ ,” Ameera replied coldly. “Above all, people stare.”

Silence.

“I felt bad for her.”

Padmé hugged herself. “She is very strong.”

“You have to be,” Ameera inferred, “When you become a martyr like that and people indecorously stare at you,  _ whisper  _ about you and your trauma right in front of you, and you still find the means to stand tall and carry on the fight. Carry the  _ spark _ . She never gave up.”

Padmé chewed her inner lip —  _ she never gave up.  _

“I’m so worried about her, ‘Meera,” she confessed with a tight heart, “I don’t know what to do.”

“You’ll do nothing,” Ameera instructed, serious like she rarely ever was. “These are Leia’s matters, and hers only. If she doesn’t share them with you, then you’re not entitled to break into her soul looking for her pain. Leia chose to be a beacon of hope to the entire galaxy, and we all admire her for it, but that does not mean she owes us the privacy of her heart.”

Padmé shifted uncomfortably, surprised that Ameera had so easily understood what she had been trying to comprehend for weeks. “It doesn’t make it easy, because I… I’m her mother, I—”

“No, you’re not,” Ameera inferred, “You have cried about that to me time and time again.  _ Leia  _ has told you that time and time again. She’s not Luke, Padmé, and you can’t treat her as much.”

Padmé’s eyes stung; she  _ knew  _ that already, so why was it so hard to hear it from her friend again?

“Okay, then, as her friend—”

Ameera eyed her suspiciously, “Are you? Her friend?”

Padmé sighed, looking down. “I guess not.”

“Then stop meddling, and let her come to you,” she said. “I don’t mean to hurt you, Padmé. Sometimes, having people that are complete strangers to you hover over you, trespassing your boundaries… It’s suffocating. It doesn’t matter if they do it out of compassion, or out of kindness, or whatever other bullshit; they’re not the center of it. It’s already hard to breathe when they aren’t stealing all your air.”

The human felt smaller than before. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not me to whom you should be apologizing.”

“No, I…” Padmé choked on her words, “That’s exactly what I did to you.”

“Maybe,” Ameera shrugged. “But I chose to tell you about my burdens, you didn’t force me. I wouldn’t have done it, though, had I known you’d become  _ vermin _ .”

She chuckled, soundlessly, appreciating Ameera's effort to make her not feel so bad about herself. Maybe she should, though; maybe she should step briefly into her daughter’s shoes and realize that she was doing more harm than good.

At last, they arrived at the main hangar, and Luke Skywalker could be seen tending to his X-Wing several yards away. For the first time since her return, Padmé Naberrie wasn’t exhilarated to see him. She was happy,  _ content,  _ but she had reached a peaceful state of comprehension that Luke was her  _ son _ , and nothing would take him away from her.

She had finally adjusted to the rest of her life.

The same, of course, couldn’t be said about Luke, who eagerly waved his arms at them upon sensing their arrival.

“Your son is just like you. You’re so annoying,” Ameera accused, her arms crossed under her chest in rebellion. Padmé ignored her and gracefully walked up to Luke.

“I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

“Not at all,” Luke jumped out of the X-Wing staircase. “We were just biding our time with some casual maintenance, waiting for you.”

Not bothered enough to change her stance, Ameera simply pointed out, “ _ We _ ?!”

“Hello to you too, Ameera,” Luke opened his brightest smile, his hands on his hips.

“You’ll have to forgive her, Luke,” Padmé said, with a dead tone. “I’ve been trying to teach her some manners, but, children, you know how they are.”

Unappreciative of the joke, Ameera retorted, “Being one himself, I don’t think Luke truly grasps what it means to be a child, coddled by their mother.”

Shaking his head, the young Skywalker couldn’t get rid of his grin. “You should spend some time with my sister, ‘Meera. I’d love to see which of you would win in a quarrel.”

“I have no intention of arguing with royalty, I’ll have you know.”

Luke made a face, “What are you talking about, you bicker with Padmé all the time.”

Ameera frowned, “Your mother isn’t—” she looked briefly at Padmé, and, upon seeing her flush, the Twi’lek was obliged to grunt, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Luke merely laughed, while Padmé’s face became redder by the second. “My mother used to be the Queen of Naboo. Didn’t she mention that?!”

“No,” Ameera replied suspiciously, “Is Naboo aware that we’ve got their missing queen?!”

Padmé cleared her throat, to reclaim back her place of speech. “Royalty implies that you’re born into a family of sovereigns, that your blood is  _ pure.  _ Naboo’s monarchy is elected, we hold more prestige in honor than blood.”

“I’m not so sure that helps your case, Your Highness,” Ameera teased, with a mock curtsy. “Besides, your definition is outdated. Princess Leia wasn’t born out of royal Alderaanian blood, yet she’s royalty. If she’s royalty, you’re royalty too.”

Thinking to herself, Padmé realized she had no idea about Alderaan’s acceptance of an adopted heir. Or about the possible backlash of the other Elder Houses, cold and conservative and hostile to outsiders as their essence. She made a mental note to ask Leia about that, some time in the future. 

“Leia is a  _ princess _ , I’m just — Padmé.”

Ameera scoffed at her, while Luke at last came to properly greet her.

In the back, however, stood a droid a little too enthusiastic with their conversation. A droid that the three sentient beings were conditioned not to notice.

Luckily, for the droid, he had mastered far too well the art of being detected by those of flesh.

The astromech droid known as R2-D2 rolled to their presence, swift and determined. He did not cease until he commoved all three of them, by invading their personal space and threatening to knock those down that came in his way. Until he found the person he was looking for, stared at their face with intensity, and started to beep indecorously, while excitedly shifting weight from foot to foot.

He did not quit on his personal little party, and, as it seemed, neither would he anytime soon.

“Hm, Luke,” Ameera was the first one to say anything, while mother and son simply stared at the droid, lost for words. “I think there’s something wrong with your droid.”

Luke had no idea what he was supposed to do. He had seen R2-D2 acting erratically before — more often than not — but  _ never  _ like this.

“Artoo, cut it out!” he demanded; however, R2-D2 had a tendency to listen to his own interests rather than those of his owners. “I don’t know what’s up with him!”

Padmé remained frozen, so Ameera dared, “Do you want me to smack it with something?!”

“No…!” Luke shouted, perplexed at such a suggestion. Meanwhile, R2-D2’s rotated his dome in his commotion. “He’ll calm down. He just needs to get whatever it is out of his system.”

Like his words had jinxed it, R2-D2 now began to circle around Padmé, over and over again. Padmé could not move, somehow caught up in her own daze. 

“Now he’s showing murderous tendencies,” Ameera grunted, although there was no hint of panic in her voice.

Luke swallowed roughly; he didn’t think  _ that  _ was the case, but he wouldn’t like to see it for himself. 

He never thought he would ever address a mean word to his droid; at that moment, those were all he had. “Artoo-deetoo! You will stop that now!”

R2-D2 didn’t, and Padmé’s eyes sparkled when she heard  _ it _ .

She lowered herself to her knees, and the simple act caused the droid to stop in his tracks right in front of her. While Ameera looked at the scene with suspicion, and Luke with confusion, Padmé brought her fingers to the beaming lights of his dome and smiled tenderly.

“Artoo-deetoo?!”

If R2-D2’s beeping was loud before, it couldn’t even compare now. His head swirled in his happiness — like he was smiling back at her.

Luke stood fazed in the distance, unable to tell what was happening. “Padmé? You know Artoo?!”

“Yes!” Padmé all but shouted; she never thought she would be so thrilled to come across a droid, but R2-D2 had once meant so much to her that she felt her eyes stung.

Ameera’s eyes were large in the back, but she said nothing.

“Artoo…” Padmé hadn’t expected for her voice to become so emotional, “Artoo was my droid, back in my reign as the Monarch of Naboo. He saved my life  _ so many  _ times, I owe him so much.”

Luke was now kneeling next to her, his hand caressing the droid as well — the droid that had finally contented himself enough to peacefully exist next to Padmé.”

“Artoo belonged to you, mother?!”

From his voice, she noticed that this was as moving to him as it was to her. “For a long time. Until I married your father, and Artoo was my wedding gift to him.”

“My father?!” Luke cried, taken aback. “Artoo belonged to my father?!”

Padmé nodded, unable to take her eyes away from the droid.  _ Too many good memories.  _ “Artoo meant everything to your father. You won’t find a more devoted droid than Artoo.”

Artoo beeped in agreement.

“Artoo, why didn’t you tell me?!” Luke asked in his childish voice. “You know how much this means to me. To have something of the father that I never met.”

Because Luke had only met Vader, and he would never bring the two people together. Sure, he had seen Anakin when he redeemed himself, but it had passed so quickly he couldn’t claim any acquaintance with the man. Anakin would always be a stranger to him, living only through Padmé’s stories.

R2-D2 replied, but nobody could understand him.

“I don’t think he knew,” Padmé said, still touching the droid, because — she wanted to cherish that last connection to Anakin. “Or, well, Artoo definitely knows  _ too _ much; his knowledge is his greatest asset. In trying times, though, it is safer that knowledge remains hidden.”

Luke sighed, dropping on his bollocks to the floor — Ameera scoffed at his lack of mannerism. “Did I ever tell you how and why I joined the rebellion?”

At last, Padmé looked at him again. Bearing all her grace, she sat down as well, her legs crossed in front of her. Ameera stood in the back, slightly interested, but giving them their privacy.

With a big smile, Luke said, “Artoo.”

Padmé grinned too.

“He was Leia’s droid. Or, he belonged to someone aboard Leia’s diplomatic ship, I’m not sure. It happened when Leia stole the plans to the Death Star, and Vader captured her ship before she could deliver the plans to anyone in the Rebellion. Leia’s genius often has these ideas bright enough to save the day, and this was one of them: she hid the plans inside Artoo and recorded a holographic message of herself to Obi-wan Kenobi. Using an escape pod, Artoo slipped right through the Imperial’s fingers, bringing the Death Stars plans to Tatooine.”

Padmé smiled with her lips closed; sometimes, all it took to save the universe was a  _ bright idea _ .

Luke patted the droid. “This little guy here got caught by Jawas on Tatooine, and my Uncle Owen bought him. Can you believe it! The Force works so fluidly sometimes — it brought Artoo right back to me.”

Unable to stay silent any longer, Ameera groaned, “It’s been weeks since I’ve been trying to understand how does the fate of the entire universe rest in the hands of one family  _ only,  _ but at this point, I don’t think I have the brain capacity to find a suitable answer.”

They both laughed — and the Twi’lek didn’t even know of their kinship to Vader.

“I’m not quite sure of it myself,” Luke said, although he didn’t doubt that it was all the workings of the Force. Like Ben had said,  _ the Force worked in mysterious ways.  _ There was nothing to do about it than to accept it. “All I know is that as I was cleaning him, I found parts of Leia’s holographic message. I will never forget that moment, hearing her words. That was the first time I saw her,  _ my sister,  _ and I felt a connection with her immediately.”

“What did she say?” Ameera asked, more curious than she would like to admit.

“‘Help me, Obi-wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope,’” Luke quoted her. “I had no idea what that meant, or who precisely was Obi-wan Kenobi. I wasn’t supposed to investigate, I wasn’t  _ allowed  _ to investigate, but devoted little Artoo ran away in the middle of the night to find Obi-wan. I had no choice but to go after him.”

“I didn’t know droids to be  _ this  _ motivated,” Ameera remarked, and Padmé and Luke shared a smile — only those who had worked  _ under  _ Artoo to know how stimulated the droid could be. 

“That’s how you found Obi-wan,” Padmé concluded, reminiscing fondly of her old friend, but not with the same intensity she would have before she learned of his misdeeds against her.

“Yes,” Luke agreed, “Ben welcomed me in and gave me my father’s lightsaber. My first contact with the Jedi way, and I rapidly felt a connection to the Force. After that—well, the rest is history.”

“Not yet,” Padmé said, “But it will be.”

Luke flushed at her consideration, and Ameera snorted at his reaction. Only Luke Skywalker to free the galaxy from the clutches of evil and become embarrassed with the recognition and praise that came to it.

Respecting his coyness, Padmé diverged her attention back to the droid. “I know it’s silly, but it makes me happy that Artoo was always there to guard you, amidst the terrors of the war. Even if he thought your father and I to be dead, he knew how much it would mean to us to look after you and your sister.”

Luke leaned on his arms behind him. “It’s funny how things work sometimes, don’t you think? Poetic, even. My mother gave this droid to my father, and without a single clue about it, my sister gave this droid to me.”

“Yes,” Padmé simply replied. She wasn’t naïve to believe in coincidences, but there were several things that she couldn’t just explain. So, she gave the universe the benefit of the doubt for that. 

“Do you think Artoo knew who Leia truly was?”

Artoo replied on his own behalf, but since there were no computers or protocol droids around to translate, his answer disappeared into thin air.

“I doubt that,” Padmé said, “Yours and Leia’s origins needed to be lost into oblivion, and although you bore the Skywalker name, no links are connecting Leia to her ancestry. Most people aren’t even aware you are siblings, so it wouldn’t fall on Artoo to know of her bloodline.”

Before Luke could process her line of thinking, Ameera interrupted.

“Why were the two of you separated at birth?” she pondered, “That’s the  _ one  _ thing that doesn’t make sense to me. I get it, you’re the children of important people, yada yada yada, but nobody is  _ that  _ important that would require you both to fall under the shadows of anonymity. Especially when—Padmé didn’t even know she had been carrying twins! There wouldn’t be a greater cover than for you to be kept together.”

Padmé and Luke stared blankly at each other, unsure of how to proceed. He opened his mouth to suggest something, and she shook her head; he sighed and tried a different approach.

“Leia and I are very strong in the Force,” he said, “Together, our signature in the Force would be too perceivable, and the Emperor would have found us and killed us.”

Ameera remained unconvinced. “Palpatine was very powerful, yes, but he wasn’t some sort of  _ wizard _ .”

Padmé made a face. “That was kind of his entire deal, though.”

“Whatever,” she grunted, “What I mean is, Palpatine found all the other Force sensitive children in the galaxy and exterminated them.  _ Except  _ for Luke and Leia. They were endangered either way, yet, they remained  _ safe.  _ It wouldn’t have made a difference whether you were separated or not.”

“But it was a risk that the people responsible for separating them weren’t willing to take,” Padmé said, looking over her shoulder to partially look at Ameera. “Everything that happened, happened on their best behalf.”

“I doubt that,” the Twi’lek’s voice lowered, “Taking babies from their mothers and telling the mothers that their babies have died is hardly on anyone’s best interest.”

Padmé swallowed, uncomfortably, and traced her eyes back to her one anchor amidst all of that: R2-D2.

Pursuing his lips in a thin line, Luke conjectured, “You have to tell her.”

Impetuously, Padmé shook her head. “Too many people know already.”

“Hardly,” Luke argued, “Only you, Leia and I.”

She gave him a pointed glare, “And Han, and Safira and Taro, and  _ Mon Mothma _ .”

“Mon Mothma knows?” Luke couldn’t feign his frown.

“Of course she knows,” Padmé stated, “She’s Leia’s friend and mentor.”

His frown didn’t disappear. “ _ Regardless.  _ That’s the end of the list.”

“That we know of,” she pointed out, “There might be more people that remember than we know of. The more people we tell, the harder it becomes to keep the secret from spreading out.”

“Well, maybe it should,” he crossed his arms, “Maybe that’s the only way the galaxy will learn of its mistakes.”

“Luke, you’re not stupid,” Padmé warned, “If it came out, people would ignore everything you did on their behalf and condemn you for sins that aren’t yours. And people would crucify Leia, for being in a position of power, thinking she was only trying to secure bigger power for herself.”

“That’s too pessimistic of you, mother,” he accused, “I’d rather believe in the good of people. They will understand it, they will know to discern everything.”

“Your faith in people is your biggest flaw,” she said, a little harder than she would have liked, “Trust me, somebody who spent the majority of her life inserted in the political scenario. Trust your  _ sister,  _ who will undoubtedly have the same opinion as me. This story must die with all of us.”

Out of a sudden, Ameera  _ loudly  _ cleared her throat, saying, “Hello. I’m still here.”

Padmé closed her eyes — she hadn’t forgotten.

“Tell her,” Luke repeated. “I understand your point of view, and even though I disagree with it, I respect it. However, I also believe that we need to have  _ people  _ by our side, who know our true identity and willingly choose to stay by our side because they  _ know  _ that we aren’t defined by it. Ameera is your friend, your  _ only  _ friend here. You need her and her support more than you realize.”

Exhaling deeply, Padmé prompted, “I can’t tell her here. There are too many people.”

Luke nodded, and, finally, stood on his feet again. “Come to the Senate with us, Ameera.”

Ameera only stared at him with wild eyes. “Whatever for?”

“Well—” Luke murmured; hadn’t she been listening to their entire conversation? “You haven’t met my sister yet.”

Her expression didn’t change. “And…?”

Luke looked at her incredulously. “ _ And  _ you could meet her today.”

“No, thank you.”

“ _ No thank you _ —” Luke quoted her in a high pitched tone. “What’s your issue with my sister?!”

“I have nothing against the princess,” Ameera blurted out, “I just don’t ever plan on meeting royalty.”

He arched one of his brows, “Scared you’re going to say something indecorous and she’ll throw you in the brig?!”

“Have you  _ met  _ me?!”

Luke laughed, watching from the corner of his eyes as Padmé leaned on R2-D2 to help herself stand.

“What Ameera isn’t telling you,” Padmé jumped in their conversation, “Is that she’s scared of the princess.”

Ameera gasped loudly at the accusation. “I most definitely am not.”

More interested in unwrinkling her clothes, Padmé didn’t offer her the courtesy of her eyes. “Fine. You’re scared of figures of authority overall.”

“You’re delusional,” Ameera alleged, “And to prove as much, I will just go with you and your crazy son to meet your other crazy child.”

Luke giggled at her characterization of him and his sister. “You don’t have to worry, ‘Meera. Leia is unlike any other sovereign you might have met.”

She looked at him dead in the eyes. “Because skipping from world to world meeting kings and queens surely is a hobby of mine.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “What I meant is, Leia is a  _ human  _ first, princess second. You’re going to love her.”

“I doubt that.”

Stepping in between the two of them, Padmé took Ameera by the arm and started walking towards the landspeeder that would take them to the Senatorial building. “Come on. We need to talk.”

Ameera’s pacing was reluctant. “Whatever this big secret of yours is, you can keep it. I don’t want to know.”

“Luke is right,” Padmé said, “We need people to trust with this. You’re my friend, and I trust you.”

Luke offered them his hand to hop onto the landspeeder. Ameera grunted, “I don’t know whether befriending you is a case of being at the right place at the right time or the wrong place at the wrong time.”

He jumped in as well, with a little boost of the Force, and turned on the engines. “ _ Definitely  _ the latter.”

* * *

Luke Skywalker focused on the road ahead of him, allowing Padmé and Ameera to privately chat on the backseat.

They were in no hurry. The galaxy was walking towards peace; for the first time in years, there was no hurry at all.

Padmé took her time; yet, she told Ameera everything.

When Padmé started to tell her the story, Ameera looked disinterested. As the story unfolded, her eyes widened. As the story came to an end and Vader’s revelation was left hanging in the air, alongside his kinship to Padmé and the twins, the color had drained from her face.

For the longest time, Ameera could not move. She sat there, trying to process the information that had been laid out so explicitly for her. Then, she looked at Padmé, and looked at Luke, and looked at Padmé again, trying to paint a face to the mask that had haunted the entire galaxy for two decades. 

Her friend had been the  _ Monster’s wife,  _ and her friend’s children were the Monster’s children. The spawns of evil. The spawns of evil that had dedicated their entire lives to free the galaxy from their father’s grip, even before they knew of their bloodline of diabolism.

Ameera took a deep breath and leaned back on her seat, sitting in the most uncomfortable stance so she’d directly stare at Padmé.

“That’s tough.”

“That’s…” Padmé babbled, nodding with her head very slowly as she tried to understand Ameera’s trail of thinking. “Tough. It is.”

With her lips compressed in a thin line, Ameera nodded as well, as if to say —  _ yeah, it is. _

Padmé waited for Ameera to say anything, but it seemed that the Twi’lek had already settled in her silence. The senator cleared her throat, “That’s… it?! You’re not going to say anything else?”

Ameera stared at her blankly. “What do you want me to say?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Padmé spasmed with her arms, “You can’t accept it… just like  _ that _ .”

“Can’t I?!”

“I mean—you  _ can,  _ but,” she struggled to form a coherent sentence. “Most people don’t take it so well.”

“I thought this was a secret known to only a handful of people.”

“And it  _ is,  _ but actually I have yet to meet someone who took it as well as you did.”

Indecorously, Ameera brought both her legs up the cushion of the seat. “You, nor Luke, nor Leia,  _ is  _ Vader. I don’t understand how else you’d want me to react.”

“Yes, but—” Padmé rambled on, unsure of what she was trying to do. If Ameera had accepted it gratefully, then why was she trying to stir up intrigue?! “We’re connected to him by blood.”

“And…?” Ameera waited for a complement that never came. “Look, I’m just an outsider. And from an outsider’s point of view, you’re Padmé, and he’s Luke, and she’s Leia. The Jedi who killed Palpatine and Vader, the princess that gave everything for the cause, and—well I have yet to figure out what you are other than their mother, but—you’re not Vader. You’re nothing  _ like  _ Vader. That’s all the information I need.”

Padmé smiled shyly, with her lips closed. Oh, if only the galaxy as a whole would be as wise as the Twi’lek. “I appreciate it, ‘Meera.”

“No need to thank me for pointing out the obvious,” she said. “If people can’t see that for themselves, then they’re the foolish ones. Nobody should be crucified for the sins of their relatives, only for the sins of their own.”

“I appreciate you nonetheless.”

“As do I,” Luke spoke up for the first time, looking behind his shoulders to gaze at the two of them.

Ameera shrugged, unbothered.

“Eyes front, Evil Spawn,” Ameera bossed him, “I don’t want my death to come from the hands of a reckless Jedi pilot.”

He did as he was told, whilst commenting, “You’re not gonna make that a thing now, are you.”

Ameera smiled devilish. Luke rolled his eyes at the lack of response.

Padmé laughed. “Word of advice, don’t go calling Leia anything of the sort. She’s…  _ struggling  _ to accept her parentage.”

Ameera looked baffled, “Do you really think I’m crazy enough to get on the bad side with royalty?!”

Luke snorted, “So you  _ are  _ scared of her.”

“ _ No _ ,” she emphasized, crossing her arms. “I’m not scared  _ of  _ her. She’s just… a little intimidating, is all.”

“He’s teasing you, Ameera,” Padmé started, “Because he’s scared of her too.”

“Am not!” Luke screamed, “Only when I do something stupid and she is mean to me.”

Ameera chuckled. “Sounds like my type of gal.”

“You realize, mother,” Luke said, “That when Ameera and Leia meet, it’ll be  _ over  _ for us. They’ll never let us breathe in peace again.”

Padmé chortled. “I’m not scared of Ameera like you are, Luke. She’s loud, but she doesn’t bite.”

Luke cleared his throat, “Leia has  _ definitely  _ bit Han once or twice.”

Ameera made a face. “Why would you—that’s  _ disgusting _ .”

His cheeks blushed so intensely that they became redder than his father’s lightsaber. “What—No, I—I didn’t mean it like that!”

Ameera clicked her tongue, “Thinking of your sister’s sex life, you freak.”

“No…!” he sounded like he was about to start crying, “Mother, make her stop!”

Being the only one able to see the look of mischief over Ameera’s face, Padmé had to stop herself from laughing, and saying instead, “Be nice to him, Ameera. Otherwise, you’ll make us crash.”

Ameera snorted, but respected them enough not to say anything else. Being there with them, seeing them at their best selves, while knowing of the secret that they had trusted her with their hearts — she almost felt like she belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave me a comment, i am no longer asking :(


	23. Twenty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you see the droids only ever coming up when they're revelant to the story, look away.
> 
> also, i had Ameera and Leia's interaction planned ever since chapter two, where we first got to delve into Ameera's character, and I'm so thrilled to finally have gotten to their scenes together!

Upon arriving at the Senatorial building, their first destiny was Leia’s office.

Luke Skywalker was amazed by the architectural construction of the place, while Ameera kept her eyes focused ahead, and Padmé — Padmé was simply happy to be there again. Even if not in an official capacity, she was happy to be part of the Senate once more. The Senate had once been her home, the only place where she could — try to — make her voice heard, try to make a  _ difference.  _

She had believed in democracy once, and she would believe it once again.

Especially when democracy rested on the hands of the fairest person she knew — her daughter.

All things considered, Padmé was glad to be there. Not as Amidala, but as Padmé Naberrie herself. She knew her time was done, but she would vividly support those who carried on the torch of the future.

Her son and her daughter.

They were her legacy more than anything she might have achieved in the Senate, or the Royal House of Naboo.

Ameera commented that they would get lost trying to get to the very specific office in the specific hall of a specific floor that the information droid had told them was Leia’s office. Padmé wouldn’t; she knew she wouldn’t. She could wander through the Senate building with her eyes closed and still not get lost.

Which was how they found themselves at the anteroom of Leia’s office not so long after they arrived.

It was empty, and the door to her office was closed. What troubled them the most, however, was the sounds and exchanges coming from the other side of the door, powerful enough to leave the three of them rigid in their stance.

_ “Ouch, Your Highnessness _ — _ go easy on me!” _

_ “What, you can’t take me?!” _

_ “Not when you’re so brutal _ — _ oh yes.” _

_ “Yeah? Right here?” _

A moan. A loud, pleased moan.

_ “I knew you could work with your hands, but damn, Leia.” _

_ “Hmmm. Hit the spot right on, didn’t I, Scoundrel?!” _

_ “Oh, yeah. I think I’m close to  _ —  _ ahhhhh.” _

_ “Good. Relax.” _

_ “Can’t be more relaxed than this, sweetheart.” _

_ “Hm. If that’s all it takes.” _

Ameera had a grim stamped on her face, Padmé went three shades redder, and Luke — Luke was  _ horrified  _ to be there. It was hard to look at each other directly.

“They wouldn’t dare,” Luke gasped, petrified, trying to come up with any other scenario that would explain  _ that  _ conversation happening between his sister and her lover.

Ameera scoffed, “Sounds like they did dare.”

Padmé swallowed hard, trying her best to ignore the sounds that still came from  _ there.  _ “I’m sure there’s a perfectly plausible explanation.”

“Yeah. Your horny daughter decided to go full length with her boyfriend at her new office. Baptize the place.”

“Ameera!”

_ “Did you hear that?” _

_ “Hear what? No, Leia, don’t stop.” _

_ “I’m sure I heard something.” _

_ “You didn’t. Come on, move your hands down a little.” _

_ “Like this?” _

_ “Ohhhhh. Oh yeah, definitely like that.” _

Ameera’s brows shot up as if to prove her point. Padmé was still facing the floor, and Luke — Luke just wanted to disappear in his embarrassment.

“We have to go in now,” Padmé said, “They know we’re here.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ameera retorted. “I know I said I’m not scared of the princess, but I most definitely  _ am  _ scared of walking in while she has sex.”

Luke shook his head desperately. “My sister would never do that.”

“Do what, have sex?” Ameera tilted her head to give him a pitiful look, “Oh, honey. You poor little thing.”

Refusing to give in to this  _ crazy  _ spectacle any further, Padmé heavily knocked on the door; she didn’t even need to turn around to feel the eyes of terror that Luke and Ameera were now giving her,

_ “See, I told you that _ — _ Come in!” _

Not waiting to discuss whether to come in or not in a committee, Padmé bravely hissed the door open. At first sight, neither of them could see the loving couple inside, so they were forced to enter the room for any further insight.

When Luke stepped inside with his terrified steps and he spotted his sister and his friend fully dressed, at a considerable distance from each other, he exaggeratedly leaned against the wall and placed his hand in the middle of his chest.

“Oh, thank the Force.”

Leia looked at him funnily, and when the expression of the other two women in the room matched his, she was obliged to ask, “Are you having a heart attack?”

“I was,” he confessed, “Before coming in here.”

Han, who was sitting in the chair behind Leia’s desk, as if  _ he  _ was the boss, while she stood on her feet behind him, gazed at him with wide eyes. “Do we even want to know?”

Padmé pursued her lips in a thin line, and it didn’t take long for Luke to start babbling, “Well—you know! The sounds you were making! And the things Han was saying! We thought—we  _ thought _ —”

With her hands on her hips, Leia looked like she could kill him with her single hands. “And you thought I was having… I was having  _ sex  _ in my office?!” The idea was so absurd to her that she struggled to even say the word aloud. “Luke! What kind of person do you think I am?!”

“I don’t know!” he shouted back, blocking Han’s smirk out of his view, “Someone who was very happy to be here and decided to celebrate!”

“That’s disgusting,” Leia accused, smacking the back of Han’s head to rid the grin from his face — she didn’t even need to be facing him to know it was there. She shifted her attention to Padmé, “And you simply allowed him to believe this insanity?”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Padmé threw both her hands up, “The sounds the two were making… It was very persuasive.”

They’d think Leia would become embarrassed; instead, she was  _ mad.  _ Just mad. “You were a  _ senator,  _ how could you ever think I would disrespect this place just like that?”

“Well…”

And the first waves of embarrassment washed over the princess. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Once he understood what had been implied, Luke panicked. “Mother?!”

“It must have happened once or twice only!” Padmé pledged, desperately, “I  _ promise _ .”

Enjoying it all more than he should have been, Han gave the hard table a tap, “I bet you and your sister were conceived right here.”

“Han.”

“ _ Han. _ ”

“Han!” 

Three voices yelled at him all at once; Ameera hid her snort behind her hand.

“Sith, I need to sit down,” Luke grunted, proceeding to one of the chairs, “Is it  _ safe  _ to sit anywhere in this office?!”

“Yes, Luke,” Leia responded, waiting until he grabbed the chair and was about to sit to add, “Well, _ maybe  _ not that one.”

Luke froze in the air, looking like he was about to cry until he saw the mischievous expression on his sister’s face, and he dropped himself down without any elegance. “I hate you.”

Leia chuckled, giving Padmé the perfect time frame to change the subject and ask, “What even were you doing?!”

Automatically, Leia’s hands fell back to Han’s shoulders. “Han extended his muscle. I was trying to alleviate the soreness by rubbing out the knot on his back.”

All of the sudden, Luke’s worry replaced his disdain. “Are you alright? How did you hurt yourself?”

“I’m fine,” he blurted out, “I, huh… I fell off bed last night.”

What Han didn’t say, though, was that Leia had had a bad nightmare the night before, enough to leave her on edge for minutes long, struggling to process anything but the residues of her bad dream — not even him, or his assuring presence there, seemed to make any difference. Unsure of what else he could do to help, he proceeded to get up to fetch her some water, only to trip on the darkness and nastily fall to the ground.

At least the sound of his slump was enough to bring her back from the dangers of her own mind.

Leia squeezed his shoulders tightly, silently thanking him from the discretion.

“You  _ fell  _ off your bed?!” at last, Ameera, blending into the background, no longer could remain silent. “What are you, five?!”

For the first time, Han Solo noticed the strange woman in the room. Startled, he looked from face to face, trying to see if they all had  _ also  _ noticed the lurking Twi’lek in the back, but when nobody’s expression did as much as flinch, he was forced to ask, “Who  _ are  _ you?!”

“Oh,” Padmé spoke on her behalf, sensing Ameera straightening up her composure next to her. Meanwhile, Leia let go of Han and circled around her desk towards the three other people. “Yes, sorry, we all got so caught up in your…  _ sex life _ — that I was nearly forgetting. Leia, Han, this is—”

“Ameera,” Leia greeted her gently and graciously, all but pushing Padmé aside so she could stand in front of the Twi’lek. Leia took her hands, “How are you?”

Ameera looked down on the tiny princess, perplexed. Unable to move, or to breathe, or to form any coherent thought. Her eyes were startled and there was a small gap between her lips and — what the hell had just happened? Why was there a princess that she had never met before treating her like one of her Royal guests? Calling her by her  _ name  _ when she had never introduced herself?

Just as confused, Padmé gazed at her friend. “I thought you said you had never met Leia.”

“I haven’t!” Ameera reassured, switching puzzled looks between Padmé and Leia. “I—haven’t...?”

Leia smiled sadly at her, squeezing her hands tighter than before. “I wouldn’t expect you to remember. I was there when we rescued you from Grand Moff Tolruck.”

Ameera’s face instantaneously fell. She felt herself going pale, and she could not meet Leia’s tight hold as the memories of her rescue came to her — of Duaa freeing her from the chains of evil, of Duaa’s lifeless body on the floor, of herself being dragged to the safety of the rebel ship, of a mysterious being sitting next to her in the medical bay while she grieved in peace.

“You. You were my angel in white.”

In return, Leia looked at her funnily. She didn’t frown, she didn’t belittle her — she stood there, silently, waiting for the explanation that was inevitable to come.

“I don’t remember much from my rescue,” Ameera spoke in a tight voice; she couldn’t explain it, but there was something about the tiny princess that drew Ameera into a sense of comfort that couldn’t be described in words. Maybe it was her ethereal presence, maybe it was her compassionate hands holding tightly to her own, maybe it was those big eyes, full of sorrow, full of  _ hope,  _ that knew exactly how it felt to lose everything.  _ Everything.  _ Ameera found herself at peace to tell a story that not many people were entitled to. “I remember the last time I saw my sister, but everything is a blur after that. All I know is that as I sat in the medical bay, there was somebody with me. I don’t know her name, I barely remember her face — but her white robes brought me a serene sensation, almost like everything would be alright again. She didn’t speak to me, she didn’t touch me, she didn’t disturb me in my grief, all she did was to sit by my side in a silent promise that I wasn’t  _ alone.  _ Somehow, she knew exactly what I needed at that moment. And that person was… you.”

Although her cheeks flushed remarkably at how she had been described, Leia showed no discomfort to it. She smiled gracefully at Ameera.

Ameera didn’t find herself pressured to continue talking once Leia didn’t verbally acknowledge her, but there was something about the princess that told her it was  _ okay  _ to be a little vulnerable. “I never thanked you for that.” So out of character, but so deep in respect for the other woman, Ameera bowed her head, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Leia,” the princess corrected her. She knew that the informality of her name would feel sour on the Twi’lek’s tongue for the first attempts, but she would get used to it eventually. “You’re here, which means you’re friends with either Padmé or Luke. Any friend of theirs is a friend of mine.”

Luke almost laughed at the boldness of Leia’s statement — Leia wasn’t one to easily trust  _ anybody  _ — but she had sounded so honest in her assurance that he knew her to be sincere.

“With all due respect,  _ Leia _ ,” Ameera started, “I don’t think I’ll do that.”

A little bit surprised, Leia laughed freely at her, and finally let go of her hands. “Well, I’ll trust you to  _ try _ , at least.”

She turned around before the Twi’lek could say anything else, and slowly walked back to Han’s side.

“Why are you all here?”

“We came to congratulate you on your new position,” Luke said distractedly, far more interested in the several datapads lit up across her desk. “What is this?”

Following his command, Padmé also took a peek of the datapads spread there. She arched one of her brows, “You’re house hunting?!”

“Yes,” Leia agreed diplomatically, sitting over the manchette of her chair where Han was seated. He placed his hand lovingly over her thigh. “Now, with the war walking towards its end, it seems like the most logical step to take.”

Luke’s light expression shut down almost immediately. He wanted to be supportive, but he couldn’t help but feel  _ left out _ . “When were you going to tell me?”

Han frowned at his sudden change of behavior. “We haven’t bought a house  _ yet _ , kid.”

“Neither are we buying a house any time so  _ soon _ ,” Leia complained, “Mr. Modest here can’t show interest with any houses that we come across.”

“They’re all so big, Leia!” Han complained back, using the childish voice that he saved for her only. “Whatever are we going to do with five bedrooms?!”

“Our bedroom, a bedroom for Chewie, a bedroom for  _ Luke _ , my office,” Leia counted on her fingers. “We can manage.”

Luke’s eyes sparkled. “I get my own room?!”

“Yes, but you won’t live with us,” Leia said before he got any ideas, “You’re only allowed to use it when, I don’t know, you suffer a  _ heartbreak _ .”

Ameera gave the Jedi a whack in the back. “If you’re ever in need of a heartbreak, Evil Spawn, you know where to find me.”

“Evil Spawn?!” Han frowned at the name-calling, once again looking at Ameera with wariness. Considering that he had most likely dozed off while the Twi’lek and Leia shared their moment, his following question wasn’t so out of character, “Who are you again?!”

Naturally, they all chose to ignore the smuggler. Padmé remarked, “Leia grew up in a Palace, Han. You can’t possibly expect her to settle in a small house.”

“Fine, but can we at least concede to a  _ middle  _ house?”

“Han, I guarantee you that all of these are  _ far, far  _ away from any middle term, compared to the palace of Aldera,” Leia reminded him.

“Fine,” he grunted, leaning forward to grab the nearest datapad in reach. “We’ll buy this one, then.”

Leia extended her neck to look at it, and said, “No. Not that one.”

“Why not?!”

She simply shot her shoulders up and down. “I don’t like that one.”

Giving up, he threw the datapad back to the table. “You’re going to be the death of me, sweetheart.”

Chuckling softly, she wrapped her arm behind his neck, in a motion that could as well have said,  _ yes, I am. _

Luke’s interest suddenly peaked, and he started to go through the houses that his sister was considering. “Should I start looking for a new house too?”

“Unless you want to spend the rest of your days in a rebel base,” Leia pointed out.”

“Hm,” he contemplated, “Mother, will you look for a house too?”

“I used to have an apartment here in Coruscant,” Padmé said casually, “Hopefully, it’s still in my name.”

Luke’s eyes glowed with enthusiasm. “Can I come live with you?”

“You’re  _ really  _ going to waste your youth away by moving in with your  _ mother _ ?!” Ameera spat, too amused with his innocence.

Luke flushed, while Leia overly enjoyed seeing her brother being picked on by the Twi’lek.

“I like her,” the princess said.

Luke gazed over to his mother in despair, “See, mother, I  _ told  _ you that I’d never be able to breathe again once Leia and Ameera ganged up against me.”

Tilting her head condescendingly, Padmé said, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll protect you.”

Her belittling tone only made the other two women laugh and the young Jedi pout.

Making herself comfortable, Padmé took the seat next to her son, while Ameera leaned in the wall behind them, making herself invisible without disappearing. She might have been welcomed by the princess, but that didn’t change the fact that she was still the stranger there.

Crossing her legs, Padmé wondered, “I assumed you would have gotten your father’s office for yourself, Leia.”

Leia’s lips compressed in one thin line at the abruptness of the question. “That office belongs to my father. It belongs to the senator of Alderaan.”

“Well, I know that the Senate isn’t reassembled fully yet, but I don’t doubt that you will represent your people—”

“What people, Padmé?” Leia snapped before Padmé had the chance to complete her sentence; meanwhile, Luke looked up to the ceiling, pretending he wasn’t  _ there _ . “There is no Alderaan anymore.”

Padmé shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “That doesn’t mean there are no  _ Alderaanians  _ anymore.”

“And I’ll represent the Alderaanian Diaspora, when the time comes,” Leia elaborated. “Not Alderaan. Alderaan will never become part of the New Republic.”

Her tone was gravely, and it killed any celebrational tone still left in the atmosphere. She wouldn’t apologize for it though. 

Leia had always known, ever since Alderaan’s obliteration, that her world would never get to see everything she had achieved for them. However, she had never  _ felt  _ it until now, because the concept of a new galaxy had always been so far away. But the New Republic was coming, was closer than ever, and it had taken all of her strength to step inside the Senate building earlier that day without collapsing.

Alderaan was gone. Her father would never see the new world that he had dedicated his entire life to. Her mother would never look at everything Leia had done in the name of good, like Queen Breha had taught her, and tell her how proud she was of her. Her parents’ death had been such a long time ago, but it had never tormented her as much as now.

Because — there was war, and war demanded her to focus on anything other than her grief. Now, there was peace, and she did not know how to handle the grief that had been forbidden to her only to hit her at full force so many years later.

“Your father would be proud, Leia,” Padmé said, sensing that that was what she needed to hear the most. Even if Leia would lash out at her again, she wouldn’t apologize for it. 

Padmé remembered so vividly when she told her own parents that the Queen of Naboo had asked her to represent them in the Galactic Senate, right after her term as Queen Amidala had ended. They had not been too happy about it, because they were looking forward to finally having their daughter back, away from the public eye, and Padmé had flown away from them again.

Still, they had told her loud and clear,  _ “We are so proud of you, Padmé.” _

Those words had guided her during her first months in Coruscant, in the Senate, where everything and everyone seemed to be against her. Padmé prayed that they would guide Leia, too.

Leia sighed loudly, and Han kissed her hand.

“I’ve been wondering, for a while,” Leia changed the subject suddenly, as she was prone to whenever things became more personal and emotional than she was ready to handle. “Why did my father never mention you to me, when the two of you were so close — or at least you claim to be.”

Knowing there was little she could do, Padmé accepted the new topic gracefully. At least Luke had managed to look at them again. “Alderaan stood in the middle of the Empire, and Vader and the Emperor’s dislike for the Organas wasn't unknown. It would be too dangerous, to reveal even to you only about your bloodline.”

“I’m not talking about that. I never had any interest in learning about my birth parents,” Leia said, her words as sharp as a knife, and Han and Luke both grimaced. She ignored them. “I was wondering why my father would never speak of an ally and a friend of his, someone who had once stood by his side to prevent injustice from happening.”

“Again,” Padmé tried, this time a little hoarser — because Leia’s accusation of her lack of desire of ever knowing where she came from had cut deeply through her, even when she doubted the princess had meant any harm with them. “Your father was always under scrutiny. Not many people would appreciate remembering my name, or how I stood up to Chancellor Palpatine whenever I could.”

Leia dismissed everything she had said with a simple gesture of her hand. “I realized — he  _ must  _ have talked about you. I was simply too young and naïve and rebellious to listen.”

Padmé frowned, “Why, did you remember something—”

“I’m getting there,” she held her index in the air briefly, before placing her hand back on Han’s shoulder. “There was this one time, when I was very little, that I ran away from my nanny droid—”

“Why would you do that?!” Luke interrupted, his eyes wide with curiosity. Leia rarely spoke of her life on Alderaan, and he found himself yearning for stories of what she might have been like in her childhood.

“Well, why wouldn’t I?!” Leia made a face at him, “Stop interrupting me.”

“I’ve only interrupted  _ once _ .”

“I’m speaking ahead to any future time you might want to.”

“That’s not fair—”

This time, it was Padmé’s turn to cut him off, “Luke, hush.”

Han smirked when he became red.

“ _ As  _ I was saying,” Leia began again, “After I ran away, I found my mother in the private gardens of the Palace. She was sitting under this beautiful statue, reading, and when she saw me, she opened her arms to me and picked me up. I remember curling up in her lap and looking up at that big statue, a statue so big that it was larger than life. I was mesmerized by it.”

Padmé’s lips fell half open; she didn’t want to jump into conclusion, she didn’t want to be so self-absorbed, but could it be—

“My mother started to talk to me. I think she was telling me about the person behind that statue, I think she was telling me something  _ important.  _ Of course, I was too little to remember, and I assume that was exactly why she told me that. But that statue enchanted me, ever since I first saw it. As I grew up, I would often find myself there, reading a book or drawing a picture or anything. There was just… something about the sparks of hope that it radiated… It always welcomed me.”

Leia took a small pause, only to realize everybody was looking at her intensely. She didn’t mind.

“I  _ think  _ that… That statue was you, Padmé.”

Padmé found herself incapable of breathing. Damned be the Organas, that always honored her, even after her death. Damned be the Organas, who sculpted a picture of her in the privacy of their home so she would  _ always  _ be near her daughter. Damned be the Organas, who remembered her, when nobody else did.

“Anyway, I’m not exactly sure why I’m telling you this. I just hoped it would bring you some sort of comfort.”

Padmé nodded graciously but remained overwhelmed to the point she could not bring herself to say anything yet.

“You’re  _ crying _ ?!”

Ameera’s sharp voice broke through the relative deep silence they had entered, and after her disruption, everybody turned their eyes to Luke.

“I’m sorry…!” he wailed, desperately rubbing the sleeve of his shirt against his eyes. “It’s just… so beautiful! Padmé was always there with Leia, and somehow Leia was drawn out to Padmé…! Like a premonition, that they would always have each other.”

Han grinned more than he should have. “Would you like a tissue, kid? Or a shoulder to cry on?!”

He expected Leia to smack him again, and was somehow relieved when she  _ only  _ lectured him, “Stop teasing him, Han. You’ll make him think that repressing his feelings is a bad thing, when it’s  _ not _ .”

Han offered her a pointed glare, “Forgive me, Your Worshipfulness, I didn’t know you to be  _ so open  _ about your feelings.”

This time, the smack to the back of his head came.

“It’s just…” Luke rambled on, like he owed everyone an explanation. “Bail and Breha Organa did everything they could to preserve Padmé’s image. Because of them, Padmé was always there to Leia, as a guarding angel. Meanwhile, all my Uncle ever told me about my parents — and trust me, there was a time in my life I would ask  _ every day  _ — was that my father was a spice runner. And that wasn’t even true!”

Padmé obfuscated her finger briefly rubbing against the corner of her eye. Still, Leia saw it and offered her a sweet, sad smile. Padmé straightened up, “I’m sorry, Luke. You deserved more than that.”

Sighing relentlessly, Luke leaned back on his seat. “It’s okay. I’m just glad that Leia could have had that, even when she didn’t want it.”

Leia bit down on her lip at the recrimination hidden behind his words.

“The Organas were the most dignified people I knew,” Padmé said, looking to Luke, although the target of her sentences was Leia. Only Leia. “I always valued them deeply, and I’m honored to know that they held me to the same pedestal. Like you said, Luke, to know that I could somehow guard Leia throughout most of her life… It almost makes up for all the time we lost.”

Leia knew the importance of words just as she knew the significance of silence. At that moment, she recognized the meaning of silence.

“Thank you for telling me this, Leia,” Padmé said, a tight feeling coming from her chest — she wished that Bail Organa was still here. Not to the same extent as Leia, of course, but she wished she could have seen him one last time, to thank him for everything he had done for  _ their  _ little girl. “It means so much.”

“Of course,” Leia accepted her gratitude elegantly.

Nobody had the chance to say anything else, as the door hissed open again, without any polite knocking, and, this time, a bright golden protocol droid came from the other side.

“Princess Leia, what are all these people here!” the droid exclaimed, crowding even more the already crowded office as he came through. “They were not on your schedule, Your Highness, so I will kick them out myself if you say the word.”

Leia gave him a look, the image of C-3PO annoying those people out her office quite plausible in her mind. “It’s okay, Threepio. Did you manage to deliver the report to Mon Mothma?”

“Yes, Princess Leia,” he replied simply, his mechanical eyes focused at the strange woman who stared at him with big, perplexed eyes. He burbled, “Princess Leia, I don’t think I am the most comfortable to being here.”

Leia was about to say something when she found Padmé’s face and frowned at it as well. The princess cleared her throat, “Ern, Padmé, this is—”

“Threepio,” Padmé gasped his name with such an intensity that it would seem she was out of breath. She stood up amidst her awe, “Threepio, I—I can’t believe this!”

Luke soon jumped on his feet again, interested. Even Leia, who had been perfectly aligned with Han, got up at the strangeness of it all.

“Mother, you know Threepio as well?!”

“Master Luke, I fear I have never seen this woman before,” the droid commented, his robotic voice making it all more dramatic than it probably was.

Padmé took one step forward, overwhelmed. She could not  _ believe  _ this.

“Threepio, it’s me. Padmé Amidala.”

C-3PO stared blankly at her. In fact, all the other four sentient beings did as well.

“Your name is not anywhere in my data bank, ma’am.”

Padmé’s face fell, and Luke rushed to her side in compassion.

“Maybe you’re mistaking him for another droid, mother,” he proposed, “There are several protocol droids out there.”

“No,” her voice was hoarse and heavy, “I would never mistake Threepio.”

Han and Leia exchanged a glance.  _ That much  _ was, indeed, impossible to do.

“Is he your droid, Leia?”

Contemplating the larger picture as thoroughly as she could, she showed a little hesitancy to reply, “...Yes.”

If only her brother could at least show  _ part  _ of her mistrust. “Where do you know Threepio from, mother?”

Padmé had been so hypnotized by the golden droid that only then she realized she had been intensely staring at it. Clearing her throat, she averted her eyes back to her son. “He was my droid, back in the Clone Wars.”

“You’ve  _ got  _ to be kidding me,” once again, Ameera complained — by now, she had either grown used to Leia there or she had simply forgotten about her figure altogether. “How is it that the entire galaxy is related to you?!”

Luke waved an arm to shut her up as he said, “I can’t believe this, mother!”

“Me either,” Leia grunted, a disdainful tone coming from her. Next to her, Han snorted.

“Isn’t it amazing how the universe works sometimes?” he carried on, overly excited. “The Force binds us together.”

Perhaps the funniest thing about that entire situation was the evident panic coming from C-3PO, which could be perceived very clearly through his only statement, “Oh dear.”

“Mother, how did you come across Threepio?” Luke asked her in his innocence, “I want to know how he came to be part of our family.”

“Well, it’s a little funny, actually,” Padmé ventured, looking solemnly at Luke as if she had forgotten about everybody else. “Remember that I told you that I gave Artoo as a wedding gift to Anakin—”

“Artoo was your droid too?!” it was Han’s turn to interrupt. “Nah, I’m with the weird blue girl on this one.  _ How  _ are the three of you related to  _ everything _ ?!”

“I wish I knew,” Leia whispered, and her disbelief with it all was nearly as comical as C-3PO’s despair.

“ _ Anyway _ ,” Padmé emphasized as she continued, “Threepio was Anakin’s wedding gift to me. Threepio was his droid.”

Leia couldn’t explain how a single sentence was powerful enough to suck out all the oxygen from a room — but it  _ was _ , and the color drained from her face.  _ She thought she was going to faint,  _ and nobody was paying attention to her to see her become paler than a ghost.

“Threepio belonged to my father?!” Luke all but shouted, turning on his heels to look at the droid, “Threepio! You were my father’s droid!”

“Will you forgive me, Master Luke, I did not know you to be Captain Antilles’ son,” C-3PO politely excused himself.

“No, Threepio, you must have belonged to my father before I assume you got your memory wiped,” Luke explained calmly — all things considered, he was one of the few people who rarely lost their patience with the golden droid.

“Memory wipe? Master Luke, I believe I wouldn’t forget going through a memory wipe.”

_ All things considered  _ — sometimes it was in everybody’s best interest to simply ignore C-3PO altogether.

And they chose to do just that.

“Oh, Luke, that’s not even the half of it,” Padmé elaborated, “Your father  _ built  _ Threepio! From  _ scratch,  _ when he was only a child!”

Leia did not process how she stumbled back on her feet until she crashed her back against the wall — but the sound of the impact was all it took for everybody’s eyes to fall back on her.  _ If only she could breathe. _

“Get him out of here.”

Her voice was so small she couldn’t ascertain that anyone had heard her.  _ Heck,  _ she couldn’t guarantee herself that she had made any sound at all.

Taken aback, Han quickly jumped to his feet. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but he had seen that look on Leia’s face before, more often than he would have liked, and he knew it didn’t mean anything  _ good.  _ And his meek knowledge commanded him into stepping in front of her, both to hide her from view from prying eyes and to hide whatever had triggered her away from  _ her.  _

“Leia.”

The princess had her eyes closed tightly, blocking everything and everyone out of her view. Maybe, if she wished hard enough, he would  _ disappear. _

“Get him out of here!”

This time, her voice was strong and loud. It was powerful enough to make the entire room tremble.

“Leia?” Han tried again, “What are you talking about?  _ Who  _ are you talking about?!”

Her eyes snapped open again, and they were as red as blood.

She demanded, “Threepio, get out of here.”

“What?!” Luke called from behind, completely oblivious to whatever might have happened. He didn’t  _ understand _ , he couldn’t comprehend why his sister would suddenly snap at the droid when she always made sure that other people didn’t treat C-3PO badly because of his personality.

If the humans couldn’t understand, then imagine how a certain protocol droid might have felt.

“Princess Leia. Where would you like me to go?”

Han positioned himself exactly so Leia wouldn’t see the droid. “Leia, what’s going on?”

Any other day, his calm would have driven her insane. That moment, though, it was the only rock certifying she didn’t slip away. “I will  _ not  _ have anything that came from  _ him _ .”

Luke and Padmé quickly exchanged looks. She hadn’t seen that one coming, she  _ couldn’t  _ have. She stepped closer to the princess, going past the human blockage that Han had built around her. “Leia, Ani was just a child. A lonely child who built a droid so he wouldn’t be all alone. He was a child, Leia, not—”

Padmé stopped herself before she spoke  _ his  _ name aloud. It wasn’t a secret, not when everyone in that room already knew — well, maybe aside from C-3PO — but she had learned the hard way that there were consequences to that name alone.

“I don’t care!” she shouted, and later on, she would become embarrassed for losing her composure in front of so many other people. “Get Threepio out of here!”

“Leia,” Han said her name once more, “That’s just Threepio. You like Threepio, you  _ care  _ for Threepio. He won’t do any harm to you.”

“I don’t care!” those three words there again, and she — she wished people would just listen to her. “I want him  _ out  _ of here.”

Nobody dared to move, not even C-3PO. Their — lack of — reaction only made Leia feel more cornered, and she couldn’t get farther away from any of them.

It was Luke’s turn to try something, “Leia, don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

Han rolled his eyes; of all the things he could have said—

“ _ Luke, _ ” Han warned.

“I’m just saying,” Luke insisted, “It’s not Threepio’s fault! And it’s beyond Threepio’s  _ control _ .”

“Luke!”

Padmé didn’t remove her eyes from Leia; the princess was crammed into the corner between two walls, her chest rising up and down at racing speed. Her eyes were big and red and wet, and she had her arms wrapped around her own torso trying to protect her from C-3PO — from C-3PO? Or from what C-3PO represented?

Either way, it wasn’t a nice picture. Padmé had seen Leia triggered once before, on the night that they had rescued Luke from the Jedi Temple — she had yet to figure out what had been the reasons behind her setback — and it hadn’t been pretty. Padmé would never think Leia would spiral down worse than that — and yet, she did.

The image of the princess so small and scared because of a stupid droid was haunting. Padmé wanted nothing more than to close her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see  _ her daughter  _ like that.

“Maybe we should listen to Leia,” she reasoned.

“Mother, Threepio has done nothing…!” Luke nearly cried, “She can’t react like this to everything regarding  _ him _ …! It’s not healthy! Next thing we know, she’s going to overreact at you and me, because  _ we’re  _ related to him. And what happens when she turns on herself?!”

“I don’t think it’s that simple, kid.”

“But it is…!” Luke retorted, “I understand that Leia wants anything to do with  _ him,  _ and I respect that. But she needs to realize that not everything that comes  _ from  _ him is bad. Otherwise, we ourselves wouldn’t be here.”

Leia’s eyes were blurry; whether because of her unshed tears or because of her uncontrollable fright, her eyes were blurry, and she couldn’t see. She could barely hear them talking over her,  _ about  _ her. She had no control over anything, not even herself, and — was that how dying felt like?

No; she had been under the mercy of death too many times. She didn’t recall it to feel like this, because death was peaceful, and it had always welcomed her as such. Unlike the peaceful sensation of death, she was surrounded by turmoil only, and the tumult stole her of her breath. 

She felt trapped within her own body, within her own mind — there was no escape. The world was spinning around her and it was crushing in around her and it was  _ heavy.  _ She couldn’t support its weight, not without losing herself in the process. Her head was going to explode.

She could faint at any moment now; she was hot and she felt every drop of sweat in her forehead, and she felt her heart throbbing against the tightness of her throat. Was she having a heart attack? Was she dying? No, she had already ruled out dying from whatever was happening to her. But maybe she was. She had never died before, maybe that was how dying truly felt like.

Maybe she was dying. That would explain why she was  _ so scared,  _ or why she couldn’t breathe, or why everything hurt, or why she felt so much without having any control or any connection to her physical body.

_ Maybe she was dying. _

Maybe death would set her free.

“You two, shut up,” Han hissed through his teeth once he realized that something was wrong, even wronger than before — Leia had stopped talking. She had been loud and she had been adamant and Luke and Padmé and he had started bickering over  _ her  _ and she had never once yelled at them for talking over her about matters that concerned  _ her,  _ and therefore only she could speak for herself.

He looked back at her and whoever stood there a few feet away wasn’t  _ Leia.  _ That woman so terrified, so  _ lost,  _ wasn’t her. The sight of that woman scared him.

“Leia,” he called for her, cautiously taking small steps towards her. Her eyes had been so out of focus that there was no guarantee that she had seen him approaching.

_ But she had.  _ She had, because the moment he got closer to her, Leia inevitably raised both her arms and shielded her face behind them, and her legs faltered beneath her until her knees bent forward and she lost half of her height; everything while she pleaded, while she  _ begged _ —

“Please don’t hurt me. I’ll tell you everything, just please don’t hurt me.  _ Please,  _ please don’t.”

Han froze midair and he — he couldn’t breathe. His heartbeat was stabbing through his chest; he wasn’t the bad guy, he wasn’t  _ the enemy.  _ He had to force his own emotions back inside, because the notion that she thought he would harm her hurt  _ him.  _ Amidst his despair, he looked back to the three sets of prying eyes,  _ praying  _ they would know what to do; instead, he found them as lost as he was. 

Despite his shock, despite that tight sensation inside his chest, Luke was the first to act, as he turned to C-3PO and said, “Threepio, why won’t you find Artoo?”

Which, considering that R2-D2 had remained back at the rebel base, would take C-3PO countless hours of aimless wandering through the Senate complex.

The droid took one last look at Princess Leia before conceding. “Of course, Master Luke.”

C-3PO was finally gone, one less problem to deal with. Now, seeing that Han still hadn’t managed to do  _ anything _ , Luke closed his eyes and looked for her presence in the Force. He found her amidst chaos and distress, and he reached for her as delicately as light.

The arms that had been previously hiding her face now covered her ears.

“ _ No,  _ get out of my head. Get out of my head! You won’t find anything there, I won’t betray my  _ father _ . Get out!”

The feeling of someone fiddling through her head was crushing; it was uncomfortable, it hurt, it stole her the control of her own body as Darth Vader mercilessly penetrated her mind looking for the very precise piece of information that she refused to give. His touch was unkind and heavy and he trampled her spirit and her  _ soul  _ under his merry fingers. Leia wanted him gone, she  _ needed  _ him gone before Vader suffocated her to death. 

So she did the only thing she could do to protect herself. She focused on the silver strings of his ethereal presence there and she severed them, until nothing except darkness prevailed.

Luke stumbled back when a brute, invisible power shoved him away. He suddenly became dizzy and a headache started to pound against his skull; it was like he couldn’t breathe, like whatever had happened stole the oxygen from his lungs. Light ceased to exist, and suddenly there was only darkness.

Like part of him had died, and his soul had been shattered in half.

It was the shove that Padmé gave his upper arm that brought him back more than anything. He opened his eyes, out of breath, and saw his sister now curled in a small position, hiding herself behind the blockage of her legs. Once again, he found himself on the verge of tears as he slowly understood what had happened — this time, they weren’t tears of happiness. He was trying to  _ help,  _ yet, he only caused more harm than good; he had invaded Leia’s mind when she was out of herself, and, as a defense mechanism, she had shut him out. She had cut apart every tie that bound them together, and now they had lost each other.

They were all alone. 

“Leia,” Han called her name, kneeled in front of her while keeping his distance. “It’s me, Han. You’re safe, Leia.”

It didn’t work. She remained unresponsive. 

Unwilling to give up — he would  _ never  _ give up on her — Han crawled closer to her. 

Upon seeing them coming near her,  _ threatening _ her with their mere existence, she closed her eyes and brutally extended her arm, about to yell at her captors to stay away. But, as she condensed all her fears inside of her, instead of words coming out of her, one of the datapads on the desk spun in place and then violently flung into the air, hitting the wall right above Ameera’s head, who was forced to deck so she wouldn’t get caught in the line of fire. The datapad fell to the ground with a loud noise, shattering technological junk all over the place.

“Leia!”

Leia wasn’t sure what exactly had snapped her back to herself; was it the loud sound of something crashing to the floor, or the panic on her brother’s voice when he shouted her name, or the accumulated energy inside of her that disseminated so quickly, without a single visible explanation. Still, she remained there, frozen within herself, trying to catch her breath when oxygen seemed to be broken.

She locked her eyes with Han’s and focused all her strength there.

Han attempted to smile at her, but he was so scared for her that he couldn’t tell whether he had succeeded.

“Can you hear me, Leia?”

She did not respond, she barely moved. She was far more busier with the simple task of breathing. When she blinked, she was surprised to find her eyes wet.

Han started to inhale and exhale exaggeratedly and very slowly, trying to create a steady pattern. He hadn’t expected it to work, but when he saw Leia trying to mimic him, a small part of him was more relieved than three seconds before.

With her muscles still tense, she wrapped her arms around her legs, bringing her knees close to her chin. She had never felt so small. She wanted to disappear.

“What you’re feeling is very scary, but it’s not dangerous, Leia,” Han said, his green eyes focused on her, refusing to blink — so scared he was that she would simply  _ disappear.  _ “You’re safe, Leia.  _ Safe.  _ No harm can get to you here.”

“I know,” at last, Leia succeeded in saying. It was barely hearable, but she said it.  _ She knew that _ , didn’t she? She was certain that she did. She was well aware that her friends would never hurt her, that not even  _ Threepio  _ would ever hurt her. But when she thought of C-3PO and she remembered that  _ her father  _ had built him, that the man she hated the most had given life to the droid she had considered her friend, the droid that she had unconditionally  _ trusted,  _ she couldn’t help herself as another wave of panic hit her. She gasped loudly, unable to control herself.

“Hey, hey,” Han called for her again, this time a little stronger. He refused to allow her to go back to — wherever her mind had taken her. “It’s not the place that is scaring you. It’s the thought. Concentrate on your breathing, stay in the present. I’m here for you.”

She closed her eyes to do exactly as he had told her but immediately snapped them open again when she realized that was a bad idea. She wasn’t fond of the darkness. Instead, she chose to focus on him, and his reassuring presence in front of her.

“I’m fine, Han.”

Usually, that automatic answer of hers would have driven him insane. Today, it was music to his ears. His lips turned up in a shy smile, and hers almost did the same. “Of course you are. Come here.”

He offered his hand to her, and when she reluctantly took it, he helped her stand. Leia welcomed his presence there to help her steady her legs, and once she was certain she wouldn’t fall again, she let go of him and diverted her attention back to where she was.

And — by the gods, what were all those people doing there? Staring at her like she was some sort of invalid? She wanted them all gone. She wanted to be alone with Han so she could cry in his arms about everything that happened to her. She wanted to dissolve into thin air.

Upon realizing her discomfort, both Padmé and Ameera did her the courtesy of looking down and giving her some space. Not Luke, though, whose piercing blue eyes had that same conflict before the battle of Endor; he was worried to an extent while also keeping something important from her.

_ Something she should know _ .

She sighed, and held Han’s hand tighter as she asked, “What is it, Luke?”

Luke swallowed hard, scratching his hair as he tried to decide how to proceed. Han was glaring at him to shut up while Leia was begging him for answers. But she  _ should  _ know, shouldn’t she?! She needed to be aware of it, she needed to realize what she had done—

“You… You nearly knocked out Ameera.”

Leia frowned at him, wondering whether he was talking in riddles and concluding she was too exhausted to try to decipher it. She directed her eyes to the Twi’lek, who assembled far too uncomfortable to be there — that made two of them — and her soul escaped her when she noticed the broken datapad by Ameera’s feet.

Leia became pale as she stared at the discarded object in pure horror.  _ She  _ had done that, she remembered it far too well now. She was scared of the pain and the hurt and she channeled all her power to protect herself — but protecting herself from  _ what _ ? — and she had used the Force to keep all her enemies away — but wasn’t her sole enemy left  _ herself _ ?

“It’s not a big deal, Leia,” Luke promised her, trying to approach her but deciding to stay put when she flinched. He wondered if she also felt the same emptiness that he did, now that they no longer shared a soul. She looked so scared and hurt that he  _ prayed  _ that she didn’t. “You didn’t mean it. It was an accident. I just wish… I wish you’d let me train you. It would help you.”

If Leia hadn’t already been too terrified at what she had done, she would have snapped at him. However, she couldn’t take her eyes from the broken datapad, and how she had almost hurt someone. Someone who hadn’t asked to be caught up in her personal dramas! Leia was ashamed of herself, she had never meant for something like to happen. She had never meant to become her father—

The walls started narrowing in on her; she needed to get out of there, she needed to get some fresh air, she needed to be  _ alone.  _ She needed to escape them, if she couldn’t escape herself—

Leia broke free from Han’s grip and rushed out of the room, never once looking back.

“Leia—”

Han was about to run after her when Padmé’s arm blocked his path. She said, “Don’t. She wouldn’t have stormed out if she didn’t want to be alone.”

Han glared at her intensely, and for a moment, she genuinely believed he would shove her away and follow Leia either way. It was the pain in his eyes before he conceded that told Padmé she wouldn’t need to worry about it.

A little out of his element, Han walked back and kicked Leia’s chair with full force, knocking it mercilessly to the floor. Unlike his expectations, it didn’t make him feel any better. He placed both his hands over his mouth and agonizingly grunted into his skin.

“That isn’t going to help, Han.”

He turned on his heels back to face Padmé ready to punch something, but she was right — it wouldn’t  _ help,  _ it could only make things worse. That didn’t stop him from yelling, though, “Then  _ tell me  _ how can I help, because I’m out of ideas here!”

“I don’t know,” Padmé confessed, sharing the same worry and pain as both men.

“She thought—She thought I was going to hurt her,” Han choked out, and now that Leia was gone, he could finally allow himself to feel. And he didn’t feel  _ good _ .

Likewise, Luke felt very purposeless amidst it all. Above all, he had the worst headache; it felt worse than the pain of having his hand cut off. His heart ached for the absence of his sister; he didn’t know how to  _ live  _ without her anymore.

“She… She thought I was  _ Vader. _ ”

The three of them abruptly glanced at him, waiting for an explanation.

“She—She thought I was Vader, trying to invade her mind.”

Padmé’s eyes shot up. “Why would she think that?!”

Neither Han nor Luke dared to answer her.

Padmé exhaled deeply, “She was out of herself, she didn’t mean any of those things. And Sith forbids this happens again, we need to listen to her, instead of arguing within ourselves what  _ we  _ think is best for her. Today, we failed her. We can’t afford to fail her again.”

Han agreed with a nod. Luke didn’t move.

Tiredly, Padmé rubbed her forehead. “What is it, Luke?”

He wasn’t going to meddle, but since he had been asked—

“Leia can’t expect to be kept away from Threepio  _ forever.  _ Threepio is our friend, he’s part of our family! She can’t lash out every time she comes close to him,  _ just  _ because he was built by Anakin.”

Han shot him eyes of fire. “Are you saying that out of concern for your sister or simply because you refuse to be separated from something that your precious little father built that somehow made its way back to you?!”

Luke looked at him with the same intensity, “I would  _ never  _ put Anakin over Leia, and you know that, Han.”

Han crossed his arms, unapologetic. 

“I’m just saying, it’s not  _ healthy.  _ She’s doing more harm to herself than necessary, she’s bringing herself  _ down.  _ She needs to learn to dissociate because Threepio isn’t Anakin. Anakin might have built it, yes, but that was such a long time ago that not even Threepio knows it anymore. And...”

He was going to say that she had been so scared upon his deeds that they no longer shared their connection. However, out of his own selfishness, he chose to remain silent. Not only was this matter private to him and his sister only, but he also wasn’t ready to admit that he had  _ failed  _ her.

Padmé eyed him suspiciously.

“It’s not that simple, Luke,” Han lashed out, his jawline clenched, “Do you honestly think she wants to be like that… like this?! You’re not there, kid, you don’t know what it’s like to be trapped inside of her mind.”

Luke gave him a look. He wanted to say that he  _ did  _ know what it was like inside her mind, that nobody knew better than him what was like inside her head, although she constantly shielded herself from it. However, he felt like he no longer had the right to talk about things he no longer  _ had. _

Instead, he provoked, “And  _ you  _ do?!”

“No, but I see it beforehand. Every night, when nightmares shake her so badly that she’ll think she’s back and trapped in the worst days of her life. Now, I’m breaking her trust by telling you this, but you  _ need  _ to understand that your sister isn’t you, and she can’t forgive so easily. Heck, she doesn’t have to! And you need to respect her, respect her choices.”

Luke uncomfortably gazed down at his feet.

“Is that why you don’t want to move in with her?”

Han sharply turned his head to look at Padmé, “What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Because Leia is a lot to  _ handle,  _ so I was wondering if that’s why you’re hesitant about moving in with her,” unlike him, Padmé spoke with calm and clarity. “If that’s the case, then you need to tell her. Before you hurt her even more.”

“And who the hell told you that I don’t want to move in with her?!”

“You did, earlier today,” Padmé reminisced, “By shutting down every house that Leia proposed.”

Luke looked like he could badly hurt Han if Han didn’t start talking soon.

“Leia is the love of my life,” Han angrily told her— _ them _ , “I don’t care how damaged she thinks she is, or how badly she tries to push me away. I’m not walking out on her, not unless she explicitly tells me to.”

Letting all of his anger evade him, Han picked up the chair he had thrown to the floor and sat back there without any mannerism. 

“I started looking up potential buyers for the Falcon.”

Luke nearly gasped when he heard that. “You’re going to sell the Falcon?! Have you asked Leia? She will  _ not  _ like this.”

Han discarded everything he said with a single gesture. “Even the best deal I get for the Falcon won’t pay for half of any of those houses that Leia is interested in.”

Padmé gazed at him like she couldn’t believe him. Luckily, she had Luke there to voice her every feeling without losing his composure.

“Leia is a  _ princess,  _ Han,” he reminded the smuggler, “She doesn’t  _ need  _ you to help her pay for the house.”

“But it’s the right thing to do,” Han argued, “It’s not fair to ask her to do this on her own.”

“She doesn’t  _ mind, _ ” Luke grunted, “Wait, is this about thinking your manhood is hurt?!”

Han grimaced, “What am I, five?! No, Luke, this is about me showing her that I’m  _ committed  _ to our relationship. That I’m never walking out on her.”

“There are other ways of showing that, Han,” Padmé finally said, leaning against the desk where the damn datapad had been, “But you need to talk to her about this, because she isn't a fool, Han. She might believe that you’re stalling to choose a god damn house because you’re having second doubts about a future with her.”

Han tilted his head — he had never considered it that way. He blew a puff of air between his lips before he confessed, “ _ Leia  _ is also afraid of taking this next step. I know her, I know her better than she knows herself, and I  _ know  _ that she’s struggling to move on. Be it from her past life or from everything that’s going through her head right now.  _ Whenever  _ I agree to a house, she shuts it down, and you saw her refusing the one I proposed earlier today. And I can’t push her, she needs to be ready to take this step by  _ herself,  _ not only because she’s with me.”

Padmé and Luke looked down, understanding.

“You have to give her time, Han,” Padmé advised.

“That’s all I ever do,” he said, “I’m not sure for how long that’ll be enough.”

Nobody saw her anymore, everybody had forgotten that she was still there. Understanding she no longer belonged there, in the privacy of their  _ family,  _ Ameera walked out without a single sound. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, remember when i said the peace would only last a couple of chapter?? well haha i meant it to the letter, two peaceful chapters and we're all back to the angst hehe
> 
> also, i did try my best not to romanticize leia's panic attack, but do let know if you think i did something wrong and i'll do my best to change it.
> 
> don't forget to leave a comment, they always make my day


	24. Twenty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this chapter planned in my mind ever since I first introducted Ameera to the story. Personally, it's one of my favorites.

Ameera walked freely and distractedly across the public gardens of the Senate when she spotted Princess Leia and froze on her feet.

She stopped moving, nearly stopped  _ breathing.  _ Princess Leia sat all by herself on a bench, a few meters away from Ameera’s trail. The Twi’lek could only see the human’s back, but that didn’t ease her in the slightest.

Leia had left her own office so she could be alone, away from prying and unfathomable eyes — and somehow Ameera had still  _ found  _ her amidst the grandiosity of the Senate complex. Ameera wasn’t supposed to be there, and she had to decide whether to turn back from where she came or carry on in her path, either by doing the least amount of noise so she wouldn’t be heard.

She decided on the former and was about to take a step back when a voice called for her.

“Did they send you?”

_ Busted,  _ she thought to herself and understood she had no other choice than to now walk up to the princess.

“How did you know I was here?”

“I heard you,” Leia replied simply, not bothering to turn around.

Ameera arched one of her brows. She had been silent,  _ too  _ silent, even before she had noticed the princess’ presence there. Even then, she was at a considerable distance, which any minor noise wouldn’t be quite impossible to hear unless Leia somehow had a super hearing.

“You mean…” Ameera threaded carefully, “You sensed me here.”

A sharp breath. “Whatever.”

Ameera grimaced.  _ Way to go, you idiot.  _ She stopped right behind the bench, keeping herself out of Leia’s view.

“They didn’t send me,” she assured. “I left a little after you because they were talking about things that did not concern me. I remembered passing by these gardens when we first went to your office, and decided to check them out, only to accidentally find you here.”

_ They were talking about her _ , Leia understood very well.

“Can I sit with you?”

The request took Leia aback. Yet, for some reason she could not comprehend, she nodded her head in permission.

The tall Twi’lek sat next to the princess, with her back straightened and her eyes focused on the horizon — like she would not look at the monarch until she also had the permission for that. Leia had only to decide whether that came from Ameera’s discomfort of being next to royalty, or an act of compassion after witnessing her breakdown a while ago.

“You’re not afraid of me…?”

Leia’s voice was so small and vulnerable it didn’t sound like it came from  _ her.  _ Ameera only dared to face her because she could see from the corner of her eyes that Leia had been looking at her.

“Why would I be?!”

“Well…” her voice was heavy, full of guilt. “I almost hurt you. I could have  _ killed  _ you.”

“You’re overreacting,” Ameera said bluntly, “A datapad to my head would have hurt,  _ a lot,  _ but it wouldn’t kill me. Besides, you’ve got a terrible aim.”

Leia chuckled soundlessly, but it faded away too fast. “It’s not—it’s not  _ overreacting,  _ Ameera. I could have… I could have seriously injured you, and I despise myself for it.”

“You didn’t.”

“I could have.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t.”

Leia sighed; they would only enter an endless loop if she carried on. “I’m sorry, Ameera. I’m sorry that you got caught in all my problems and you nearly got hurt amidst it.”

Leia no longer was looking at her, yet Ameera couldn’t look away. “I don’t think you have anything to ask forgiveness for.”

The princess bit down on her lip harshly. “I think I do.”

“I  _ think _ , Your Highness,” Ameera mediated, “That you had a panic attack. You shouldn’t be apologizing for that.”

Embarrassed, Leia buried her face in both her hands, with no intention of showing herself any time so soon. “I don’t… I didn’t—”

Not thinking of the consequences, Ameera placed her hand on Leia’s back. The princess was startled at the sudden touch but didn’t pull away. “It’s okay. You had no control over it. It wasn’t your fault, and you don’t need to be ashamed about it.”

“It’s just…” Leia tried, and she couldn’t remember the last time she was so out of words. “ _ Sith,  _ I was so scared, I thought I was dying. And I know I said things, I did things, that hurt everybody else.”

“With all due respect, Princess,” the Twi’lek spoke with her strong voice, “Fuck everybody else. When you’re going through something that everybody else is  _ not,  _ they lose the right to be the main concern of your life.”

Still hiding herself away, Leia lamented, “I wish it were that simple. I’m a princess, I’m the leader of a dead culture. It is my responsibility to always put everybody else above me.”

“Okay,” Ameera hesitantly conceded, trying to come up with something else. “Maybe that duty shouldn’t extend to your family though. Your family loves you, and you get to be a little selfish next to them. For once, you get to put yourself first.”

Leia sniffed.

“Besides,” Ameera continued, “You can’t be the best leader you can be if you don’t get better first. And the only way to do so is by thinking of yourself above everybody else.” 

Breathing in deeply, Leia managed to lower down her hands. “I want to get better. There’s nothing I want more than this, I’m  _ exhausted  _ from being like this. I just don’t know how to.”

“If you’ll allow me to be bold, you have something precious that you seem to disregard,” Ameera said, “A support system. A strong support system, that unconditionally loves you and wants nothing more than to be there for you and to help you through your difficulties. Don’t push them away.”

Tiredly, Leia rested her chin on her hands. “I’m not ready, I—I’m not ready to disclose everything that happened to them, to  _ Padmé _ —I don’t, I don’t want to be seen as… as…”

“Weak? Fragile?” Ameera offered, and Leia nodded. “You’re not either of those nor anything of the sort. It takes guts to reach out for help, and… It takes guts to survive.”

Leia doubted she had ever heard something so inarticulate that made so much sense. 

“I’m just saying, Princess, you’re strong, and the only person who can’t see it is  _ you.  _ I understand, the past is daunting, but scars don’t dictate where you’re going, only where you’ve been. Your past doesn’t define you.”

“I feel… I feel like it does,” Leia confessed with a tight voice, “Ever since Alderaan met its fate… That’s all that I’m seen as. The last princess of Alderaan. And I’m so tired of being that princess.”

“It doesn’t define you,” Ameera repeated, “People are stupid, they can’t see past appearances. You’re so much more than that. You never allowed your grief to take you down, and, because of your strength, look at everything you’ve achieved. Be proud of that.”

Leia pulled both of her legs up, wrinkling her blue dress as she did; she was long past caring for appearances. __

“I don’t think you understand how many people you inspire, Princess, with everything you do. You’re a beacon of light and hope to everyone who knows you, who knows  _ of  _ you. Don’t let your fire burn out because your flame is the only thing keeping this galaxy from collapsing again.”

Leia’s cheeks flushed red. She didn’t think that much of herself, but  _ maybe  _ she should take some of it to her heart. To give her the strength to go on.

“Leia. You should call me Leia.”

Ameera wrinkled her nose.

“You’ve earned it, after everything… we’ve been  _ through _ … in a single afternoon.”

Ameera snorted lightly. “Unlike what you’d  _ think _ , Leia, I don’t think any less of you because of what  _ happened.  _ Neither does Luke, nor Han, or Padmé. You shouldn’t either.”

Leia hugged her legs tightly, laying her head over her knees and facing the opposite direction of Ameera’s. “I didn’t want anyone to see me… like  _ that.  _ I understand that none of you judges me because of it, but it bothers  _ me.  _ I don’t like being vulnerable in front of other people, it doesn’t make me feel good.”

“For what it’s worth, nobody in that room felt  _ good.  _ Han was so desperate, and Luke felt the pain that his twin sister would go through such a horrible thing, and Padmé was just trying not to lose her head because one of you in a hysterical state was already bad enough. Everything they did seemed to only make things worse, and they were as helpless as you were. You thought you were dying, yes, but they thought you were dying too. And the pain of losing you forever was louder than the silence in the room.”

“Yet another reason why I didn’t want anybody there,” Leia whispered, “It  _ hurt  _ the people I love, more than I can imagine.  _ I  _ hurt them. I’m sick of only hurting those I love.”

Ameera frowned, “What are you talking about? You never hurt anybody—”

“Yes, I did,” she didn’t sound pitiful of herself, but her voice cracked with guilt. “I hurt my mother when I destroyed the world that she gave her life for. I hurt my father when I stole him the chance of seeing that the rebellion that he started won. Everybody that I ever loved is dead. I killed them all.”

Unlike every expectation — Ameera  _ laughed _ .

Leia frowned, finally raising her head again to look at the Twi’lek. “What’s so funny?!”

Ameera hid her lips behind her hand to conceal her amusement. “I’m sorry, I just—Padmé keeps telling me all the time that Duaa’s death isn’t my fault, and I always snap at her because I think it is, but I never understood how ridiculous that idea was until I heard it from you.”

Leia’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

“Yeah, yeah. Until two minutes ago, I was convinced that  _ I  _ was the reason that my sister was dead, and there was nothing, not even Padmé’s insufferable babblings, that would make me believe otherwise. Then, I heard you talk about how  _ you  _ killed Alderaan, and it’s insane. It’s insane, Leia!”

And then, Leia did the most insane thing, too — she laughed.

“See? Even you see it for yourself now.”

“Well, I wouldn’t—”

“Tell me this, Leia,” Ameera turned her body completely towards Leia, “Would you  _ ever  _ say that I’m responsible for my sister’s death?!”

“Of course not,” Leia spoke seriously, “What happened was completely out of anybody’s hands. It was one final act of love between siblings, it was the last sacrifice. Duaa would never forgive herself if she left you there, and she was willing to pay the price if it came to it. She only died because the Empire is ruthless and it can’t stand to see beautiful things, such as the genuine love between siblings.”

“Exactly,” Ameera smiled devilish, “By following  _ your  _ logic, the death of Alderaan could never be in your hands.”

Leia’s expression shut completely. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is!” Ameera exclaimed, smiling widely at her moment of epiphany. “Tell me, did you want Alderaan to be blown up?”

“No, but—”

“Did you press the button that blew up Alderaan?”

“No, but—”

“Then how could it possibly be your fault? Not the Empire’s? Your  _ parents  _ would never forgive themselves if you had died in their place. It was the final deed of love between parents and their child, and you can’t rob them of that. Alderaan and your parents died because the Empire doesn’t know how to allow good to exist without destroying it. It was the Empire’s doing, not yours.”

All of sudden, Leia resembled a hollow. “Understanding it is harder than accepting it. I don’t think I will ever truly be able to accept it.”

Ameera smiled sadly. “Can you promise you’ll at least  _ try _ ?”

“I—”

“It’s not much.”

Morosely, she conceded. “Okay. I guess I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

Ameera gave her hand a tight squeeze in appreciation. Leia sighed, trying to acknowledge the truth beneath Ameera’s words; she didn’t expect it to be easy, but it was harder than she had anticipated.

“Can I ask you something?”

Sensing the sudden swift in Ameera’s voice, Leia’s veil fell back on, while her composure became cold and calculated again. “Of course, Ameera.”

Ameera straightened her back, and she faced the horizon again. 

“I was wondering… About Duaa’s rescue mission… Why were you there?”

Leia saw that visual contact made Ameera uncomfortable; yet, she could not look away. “After the failed mission on Kashyyyk, Duaa came to the High Council desperately. She called for a meeting and  _ begged  _ us to do something, to help her rescue you. I didn’t say anything, but naturally, the Council couldn’t give the grounds for the mission. Duaa cussed, but she understood, and she stormed out of there without looking back.”

Ameera swallowed uncomfortably, “So she was willing to leave me there.”

“I’m getting there,” Leia raised her finger, “Duaa’s perfect response to our dismissal threw me off. I saw the look on her face, I  _ knew  _ the look on her face. The moment she walked out, I understood she would go to you with or without our help. So I went to her, beyond the Council’s back, and funded the mission myself.”

“Oh,” Ameera was surprised; she hadn’t expected that. “Why?”

Leia chuckled to herself, “Because if somebody that I loved were taken for me, I would also go after them, with or without help. That’s what I  _ did,  _ when Han was taken by the Hutts. I was lucky enough to have Mon Mothma’s support for my mission to rescue Han. Other people should have aid from the High Council as well, even  _ though  _ they’re not royalty.”

Blinking fast, Ameera nodded. “Thank you, I guess. I appreciate it, that you would come for me. Duaa was a very passionate person, but she didn’t often think clearly. If she had come alone, we would both be in chains right now.”

Leia dismissed her gratitude with a wave. “Oh, I’m well aware of that. After I gathered a tactical team and found us a ship, I asked her what she wanted to do, what was her strategic plan, and she simply stared at me blankly, because what else was she supposed to do other than to fall from the skies and magically find you there?”

Ameera laughed loudly at it. “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

“I’m just sorry that we couldn’t come back with the both of you,” Leia bewailed, “But I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this, Ameera, I’d rather have one of you dead than one of you in chains, with no hopes of freedom.”

Ameera shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “If I’m honest myself, I’m not sure which one I’d rather. Being enslaved to that  _ monster  _ was one of the worst experiences of my life, but it turns out that life without Duaa is quite miserable as well.”

Copying her stance, Leia hugged her legs again. “I understand the sentiment very well.”

Ameera scoffed ironically, “We’re more alike than you’d think.”

“Unfortunately,” Leia sighed, “It sucks to be us.”

Ameera didn’t think it was possible for royalty to ever be so informal and classless; that notion made her laugh. 

“Can I… ask you something, too?”

Ameera turned her head back to the princess, a little taken aback at her tone. Ever since she had gotten there, Leia had kept her voice steady, even when talking about matters that weren’t easy to talk about; now, she sounded so scared and broken. Ameera was abashed to know what would follow.

“Y-yeah.”

“It’s something personal, and it exploits whatever boundaries we might have founded today,” Leia declared, and for that, her voice didn’t falter. “I need you to promise that, if I make you uncomfortable, or you simply don’t want to talk about that, you’ll tell me to fuck off and mind my own business.”

Ameera raised her eyebrow, “You’re telling me I get a free pass to telling royalty to fuck off?!”

That was the sort of comment that would get Padmé to evidently lose her patience with Ameera. Unlike the mother, Leia’s expression didn’t shift. 

“Something like that.”

Straightening her face, Ameera conceded, “I promise.”

Leia bowed her head in appreciation.

“It’s just… I was wondering… Since you brought it up and—ah, never mind. It’s not important.”

Ameera looked at her intensely. “Whatever it is, you can ask me, Leia. You don’t have to be afraid, especially if it’s something that might help you with what you’re going through.”

Leia chewed on her inner cheeks. “It’s just—It’s  _ invasive,  _ and I…”

“You don’t strike me as the type of person to ask invasive questions unless they’re necessary,” Ameera conjectured. “Ask me. Worst case scenario, I’ll just kindly tell you fuck off.”

Leia brought her legs back to the ground, placing her hands over her knees. “Okay, well… I was just… You mentioned that being enslaved was one of the worst experiences of your life, and—and I was  _ wondering  _ what you do, what you  _ did  _ to overcome the impotence that being enslaved might have brought you, and… Ah, I’m so sorry, Ameera, you don’t owe me anything and I have no right to ask something so personal and intrusive and… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ameera assured, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was  _ off  _ — that wasn’t the kind of question that people asked in an attempt to make small talk. “I don’t mind talking about it. Can I just ask what brought this up?”

Leia didn’t respond; she did not know how to. Instead, she looked down and anxiously started to squeeze her own knees.

Ameera saw her reaction but didn’t comment on it. 

“I asked, because you don’t often hear questions of the sort, not unless the person asking has gone through something of the sort.”

“Yeah,” Leia conceded, although it wasn’t clear what she was conceding to.

But Ameera wasn’t stupid; she had lived through too much to still be naïve. “Everybody deals with trauma differently, Leia.”

“I know,” she dug her nails deep into her knees. “I know. I’m sorry, please forget I asked.”

Ameera couldn’t; she wouldn’t pry, she wouldn’t intrude on the princess’ private life, but she felt like her  _ duty  _ to answer the question that had been so impudently asked. Leia had gone out of her way to save her, such a long time ago; Ameera would be forever in her debt.

“I will never forget what happened, or what that bastard did to me. I was his  _ prize _ , he chained me to my neck and displayed me around. Like his personal exhibition. I always knew of the Imperials’ dislike for non-human species, but I never fully understood it until I was there, and he would treat me like some sort of exotic animal, something to  _ possess.  _ I knew inhumane evilness existed, but I never understood it until I was  _ there _ .”

Once again, Leia Organa found it impossible to breathe. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything.

“Hurting me was like — like a hobby to him. Whenever he became angry at something, whenever things didn’t go his way, he would lash out at me. I swear, I always behaved, I never did anything to have him mad at me. Still, he would always come at me. I’ve got scars on my back that will never allow me to forget his rage.”

“Rebelling against him wouldn’t give him the right to hurt you, Ameera,” Leia finally said, her voice hoarse. “It’s not an excuse.”

“I feel… I feel like I must justify it. That even though I wasn’t human, I never did anything to purposefully get him to hurt me.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Leia said, and Ameera nodded — because she knew, she  _ knew  _ that. “For what is worth, Grand Moff Tolruck is under our custody. When we took back Kashyyyk from Imperial control, we arrested him. As soon as we get the Senate properly running, he’s going to be tried for his War Crimes. He’ll spend the rest of his life locked away.”

Ameera looked at her wide-eyed; she hadn’t known about that, and she assumed a sense of bliss would come to her when she heard that the monster that had incarcerated her would be punished for like — it didn’t.

“I often dreamed of the day he would die, or be arrested, and the final sense of freedom and justice that would come to be,” she said quietly. “I thought it would feel good, but… I don’t feel any different. The damage is already done, his penalty won’t undo all the hurt he caused me, and — it won’t bring Duaa back.”

“I understand,” Leia sympathized. “What’s the point of winning the war if Alderaan will never get to be part of this new world that I fought for them?”

Regrettably, Ameera nodded. 

“The concept that, because of the price Alderaan paid, nobody else will ever suffer the same fate is what drives me forward,” Leia said, “Or at least that’s what I try to convince myself. It’s not easy, it’s not  _ fair _ , but it’s something.”

Ameera timidly smiled, gratefully. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Leia returned the smile.

The Twi’lek didn’t need to be asked to continue — especially when she was  _ certain  _ Leia wouldn’t. “What happened to me in Kashyyyk scarred me, and it didn’t help that Duaa’s death came overlapping. Suddenly, I was dealing with the two worst things that could ever happen to me, and I had no one to help me through it. Funny, I used to always believe that my parents’ death would be the most painful thing to happen, but it didn’t even compare to the pain of losing Duaa. I don’t know, maybe I have already forgotten what losing my parents felt like, while Duaa’s death is still fresh in my mind. Either way, it  _ sucks _ . Being alone sucks.”

Leia shivered; after she had lost everything, she decided she would spend the rest of her life alone, so she would never have to go through the pain of losing someone again. Then, she found another family, and even though she genuinely believed she would  _ die  _ if she ever lost them, she wouldn’t trade them for her solitude.

She didn’t expect Ameera to voice her exact line of thinking, though.

“After I lost Duaa, I promised myself I would never let myself get attached to anyone again. I decided nobody was worth the pain of losing them, so I isolated myself from everything and everyone. I was cold and rude to everyone who dared to come to me, and I realize now that that wasn’t very nice of me, but I was just trying to protect myself, you know?! I was terrified of life, and of what else life might take from me, and I guess being a  _ bitch  _ became my coping mechanism. However, what I did not know back then — my loneliness intensified my feelings of sadness and fear, and that only contributed to negative thoughts coming to me all the time, more often than not, and I could not stop them, nor control them. I was desperate and my trauma made it  _ so hard  _ to breathe that I started doing the one thing that I shouldn’t. I started hurting myself.”

Leia’s heart skipped a beat. “Ameera—”

“You don’t have to worry, I don’t do that anymore,” Ameera assured, but that did not cause Leia to relax again. “One day, I realized that Duaa would be so disappointed in me, for what I was doing to myself, and I stopped. I promised myself I would never do that again. I know, any therapist would say that I need to get better for  _ myself,  _ not for the others, but Duaa was my rock in her life, and she continued to be my rock in her death. Everything I do, I do it for her, to honor her memory, and because I know that she would always want the best for me, in a way, I do it for myself, too.”

Leia remained still and silent.

“I’m not saying it’s easy, or that I’m at my best game again, because — I’m not. I still have nightmares, and some days are so hard that I have to force myself out of bed, because life without Duaa seems so… poignant, you know? Like, what is the point? And I have to remind myself that the point is, I’m alive, and that’s  _ enough.  _ Or, it should be enough at least.”

“It is, even when it feels like it isn’t.”

“Yeah,” Ameera agreed. “It’s funny, though, because Padmé came into my life when I needed it the most. Within two hours of knowing each other, she brought me under her wings, and she never let me go. I did everything I could to  _ scare  _ her away because I was still convinced that being alone was a gift, but she never backed away. Because she  _ understood  _ me, more than I thought I understood myself, and she brought me feelings of acceptance, and belonging, and  _ safety  _ to me. Feelings that were so stray to me, and that now I no longer know how to live without. Padmé helps me, even if she isn’t aware of it, and, ever since Duaa died, she’s been the best thing to happen to me. And I don’t appreciate her as much as I should, because some part of me is still  _ terrified  _ of forming attachments and losing those I care about all over again. I’m trying to get better, though, I’m trying to  _ be  _ better. I, alongside everybody else who ever went through unbelievable trauma, am a work in progress. And I’ll be proud of myself when I get to see the final result.”

Princess Leia smiled tightly when Ameera reached the end; she didn’t cower herself into hiding the single tear that ran down her cheek.

“Anyway, I’m not exactly sure at what you can gain from my rambling, but I sincerely hope it helps you, Leia,” Ameera said, “If you’re ever feeling too sad, or if you’re thinking of hurting yourself, just remember that you’re not alone. You’ll never be alone again. You have a family that loves you,  _ unconditionally  _ loves you, and they will always go out of their way to make sure that  _ you’re  _ alright. Han loves you, and Luke loves you, and Padmé—Padmé is ready to do anything for you, you just have to say the word. Don’t push them away.”

Pressing her lips together until they turned white, Leia nodded vigorously.

“And I’m sorry for every time I thought to myself that you were the Ice Princess.”

Leia choked out a laugh, although it could also be a sob, and neither of them was interested in finding out.

“Thank you, Ameera. You have no idea how much it means, that you shared burdens that I  _ know  _ weren’t easy to talk about. You’ll always have my gratitude, and I’ll be forever in your debt.”

“Well, considering that you personally funded a whole mission to rescue me, I’d say we’re even.”

Laughing, Leia shook her head.

“Do… Do you know Jabba the Hutt?”

“Yeah,” Ameera replied, visibly disgusted. “He’s universally known for his particular taste in Twi’lek girls, and making them their sex slaves.”

There again, her hands anxiously grabbing her knees. “Yeah.”

Ameera looked ahead, at the sun starting to descend the polluted Coruscanti sky, waiting for where the princess was going with the mention of that beast. When only silence prevailed, realization crept into her, and the vibrant blue of her cheeks evaded her.

“Leia—”

“Yeah,” Leia said again, and she was holding to her knees so tightly that her fingers were turning white. 

Ameera forced herself to breathe; she had heard stories, she knew exactly what Jabba was capable of — nothing good. “When did that happen?”

“Just before the battle of Endor.”

“Shit,” Ameera cussed — it was still  _ fresh _ . “Wait, didn’t you fight in the battle of Endor?”

Leia shyly nodded. “The war kept me distracted. Now that there’s no war anymore… It’s like everything is enhanced. I keep trying to forget, but all I can do is…  _ remember _ .”

Ameera shifted on her seat uncomfortably.

“I—I can’t,” Leia babbled, “I can’t talk about it. I mean, I can’t bring myself to talk about it, it makes me sick to my stomach. I never felt more disgusted with myself.”

“You didn’t choose to be there, Leia,” Ameera reminded her, and although it sounded like a frivolous reminder, it might have been exactly what the princess needed to hear. “It wasn’t—It’s not your fault.”

“I know that,” Leia whispered to herself — because she  _ did.  _ Unlike Alderaan, this time she understood very clearly that it  _ hadn’t  _ been her fault. “But Jabba recognized who I was, and he wanted to have a  _ princess  _ in his possession. He wanted to humiliate me, and he succeeded. I don’t know how to stop feeling like this.”

“I’m sorry, Leia,” Ameera said humbly. “What he did to you—is fucked up. He took advantage of your title, and—”

“No, don’t say that,” although still looking down, Leia turned her head briefly in Ameera’s direction. “My title should not be a reason so that I’d be safe from crimes committed to other women out there, who don’t have the mercy of being royalty.”

Ameera frowned. “Don’t you wish your title had saved you?”

“All the time,” she confessed, “But it didn’t save me when I was taken to the Death Star, and it didn’t save Alderaan. Why would it then make a difference to a Crime Lord with no connection whatsoever to the Core Worlds?”

Focused on Leia’s hands running up and down her thighs, Ameera reached out and grabbed one of them. She held it tight. “You’re very strong, Leia. I’m proud of you for having survived.”

Once again, Leia’s eyes filled with unshed tears. Ameera knew exactly what to say to her, because she had gone through something similar herself, and — and Leia wished they didn’t have to bond over shared traumas.

“Padmé doesn’t know.”

“I won’t tell her, you don’t have to worry,” Ameera reassured, “Although I do believe it would be good for you. To start talking about it. I’m well aware that we’re mostly surrounded by men, so… Maybe Padmé came back to your life when you needed her the most.”

Although she appreciated Ameera’s hand on hers, she didn’t have the strength to hold it back. “I… I don’t want her to know. I’m ashamed of myself, and… I don’t want her to pity me.”

“She won’t, Leia,” Ameera reasoned. “Look, I didn’t want to say anything of the sort, because I understand the two of you are in a complicated place as of now, but… Padmé loves you. She genuinely does. All she wants is to see you at your very best.”

Leia quivered. “When I saw you coming in today, I concluded that you were Padmé’s friend — Luke isn’t one to make a new friend and not scream about it to the entire world. All I could think was that you’d hate me, because I haven’t been nice to Padmé, and she would trust you with every time I hurt her — purposefully or not.”

“Padmé never once said a bad word about you,” Ameera said, and Leia frowned. “Mostly, she just rambles about how badly she keeps messing up with you, and that nothing she does seems to be right.”

Leia’s heart tightened at the notion. She didn’t deserve Padmé’s kindness, she didn’t—

“I appreciate that you never once referred to her as  _ my mother _ ,” Leia said, “Luke does it all the time, and even Han sometimes, and it bothers me more than I’d like to admit. So, on top of everything else, thank you for that.”

Ameera simply shrugged.

Leia sighed, and she couldn’t understand herself for being so prone to talking about matters of her heart to a complete stranger when she barely could talk to Han about it.

“I killed him.”

“What?”

“Jabba,” Leia clarified. “I mercilessly killed him, with the same chain that he put around my neck. I had so much rage for him piling up inside of me, and… I couldn’t understand how I had done it. I’m so small, and he’s a gigantic beast, I couldn’t comprehend how I’d have the strength to choke him to death.”

Ameera only looked at her, waiting.

“Luke then told me I was Force sensitive like him, and it made sense. I used my innate power to kill him, and I didn’t feel bad for it.”

“You shouldn’t,” the Twi’lek guaranteed. “Nobody mourns a monster.”

Leia anxiously nodded. “Then, I used the Force again today, and I almost hurt you in the process. Every time I touch this…. raw power inside of me, I only bring harm. Never good.”

Ameera grimaced, connecting the dots herself. “When I got here, you asked me if I was afraid of you, and  _ why  _ I wasn't afraid of you. You asked that, because you’re afraid of yourself.”

“I’m… I’m terrified,” she confessed. “I’m terrified of becoming him.”

Leia didn’t falter saying that, since the only reason why Ameera hadn’t freaked out when she saw Leia losing her composure because of a stupid droid was that she already  _ knew  _ of the twins’ parentage. That, or she had been briefed about it afterward. Either way, Leia’s instincts told her that the Twi’lek already shared the most precious secret in the galaxy, and it was alright to talk to her about it. Her instincts rarely ever let her down.

“Vader.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Ameera tried to think quickly, “I very much doubt that Vader ever questioned himself, or the length of his power. He seized it without hesitancy, and the fact that you’re here, doubting yourself, only proves that you’ll always be infinitely better than him.”

Leia closed her eyes. “I wish it were that simple.”

“You’re right. I have no knowledge of this Force gibberish,” Ameera conceded, “But I know Padmé very well, and I speak with conviction that you’re everything good that she is.”

Leia imperceptibly shook her head, wishing it were true.

“I feel… I feel like something bad is going to happen.”

Leia’s voice was so small that it bashed Ameera. “What do you mean? What will happen?”

“I don’t know,” Leia whispered, “I don't know what will happen, or when it will happen, or to whom it will happen. I don’t even know if it  _ will  _ happen. But I… I can’t shake this bad feeling off.”

“Is that a Jedi thing? Having visions or whatever?”

“I think so,” Leia said, “But I’m not a Jedi.”

“But you are Force sensitive, or whatever it’s called,” Ameera reminded her, “Have you talked to your brother? He might be able to help you,  _ guide  _ you.”

“I  _ don’t  _ want to be trained,” Leia said a little harsher than she should have been. She didn’t apologize for that.

“I didn’t mean that,” Ameera replied unapologetically. “You have a lot of power inside of you that you don’t know how to handle, how to  _ use.  _ And I’m not saying that you should harvest that power for others, but for  _ yourself.  _ Maybe this Force of yours will be your greatest ally.”

“I’m so scared of it, Ameera,” Leia confessed, “What if I touch my powers and because of it, something bad truly happens?”

“Leia, something bad has  _ already  _ happened. Look at everything you’ve already gone through. If you survived all of that, and you didn’t turn  _ dark,  _ then I highly doubt you will now. Regardless if you weren’t aware of your power before. When you go through so much trauma, and yet you choose to be strong, and kind, and  _ good _ … I think it’s a sign from the universe that your goodness will prevail.”

Leia’s emotions began to overcome her. “You really think so?”

“Yeah. I do.”

It didn’t matter that Ameera had no grounds to say that; her simple assurance was so much more important than the prospect of veracity _. _

“Would you like a hug?”

The suddenness of her question caught Leia so off guard that she abruptly faced the Twi’lek again, for the first time in an entire conversation. “What?!”

“Would you like a hug?” Ameera repeated herself, callously. “As of recent, I’ve been learning about the therapeutics of a hug, all thanks to  _ Padmé _ ,” she said the last bit quite sardonically, “So I’m offering. A chance for you to be vulnerable, while nobody else is looking. Hopefully, it can bring you some sense of comfort and safety, as it did me.”

“I—”

Leia took too long to answer, to give a simple yes or no reply. Ameera concluded her uncertainty to come from a place of diplomacy, rather than an elemental fear of intimacy or mistrust, so she stepped out of her comfort zone and launched herself forward. She waited for Leia to acknowledge what she was about to do, to give her the chance of backing away if the physical touch were to trigger her, and when Leia remained perfectly still, Ameera wrapped her long arms around the petite princess and held tight.

Leia was so taken aback that she had no other choice but to hold back.

She held back so tight; she never thought she would find this deep intimacy with another woman again.

“I always thought that hugging Padmé was a struggle, but  _ dang  _ girl, you’re a dwarf.”

That comment was so unexpected that Leia busted into laughter. Still, she enjoyed the innocent warmth of a friendly hug for the next minute or so.

When Leia finally pulled back, her cheeks were wet, but she smiled. She  _ smiled.  _

“I need to go talk to them,” Leia announced, referring to the three people that had been left behind. “Would you… Would you mind coming with me?”

Ameera returned the smile broadly. “It would be an honor.”

She stood up, and offered her hand to the princess. Leia accepted it gracefully.

“Thank you again, Ameera,” she said, “For being here.”

“And I’ll thank you to stop thanking me, Tiny Princess,” she snapped, although her tone was gentle. “You would do the same for me.”

Leia smiled affectionately at the sweet nickname. “Still. You didn’t ask to be caught up amidst my emotional burdens, or to have me lay it all out on you.”

Ameera puffed. “You think you’re a burden?! Padmé laid it all out on me  _ two hours  _ after we met. Two hours! And I’m talking here about a whole autobiography book. And she hasn’t shut up ever since.”

Leia chuckled softly, noticing that the Twi’lek had yet to let go of her hand, and she didn’t make an effort of ending the physical contact either. 

“I know I’m not part of this dysfunctional family of yours,” Ameera prompted, “But Padmé makes me feel like I belong. She makes me feel like I  _ have  _ a family, a family that won’t throw me away because I’m different, or because they think I’m inferior to them. Padmé makes me feel like I  _ matter _ , and I don’t ever want to stop feeling this way. I want you to feel like this, too.”

Ameera intertwined her arm with Leia’s as they began walking. Although Leia had long physically recovered from the residue of her panic attack, she appreciated the small gesture of comfort and support. A reminder that even though she was steady, she didn’t need to be steady alone.

* * *

When the girls made it back to Leia’s office, the door had been left open. Leia could feel the tension in there from the anteroom, and she had to remind herself to breathe before she stepped in.

Han, Luke, and Padmé were all distracted, each one dealing with whatever was going through their minds in the privacy of their silence. Han still sat behind her desk, with his head leaned on his elbow while his eyes stared at anything at all; Padmé was comfortably seated in the couch in the sectional couch under the window, gazing out at the horizon; Luke lying down on the floor, with his eyes closed, and — and Leia wasn’t sure she wanted to know how and why he had ended up there.

Nobody saw her coming past the door, and she almost allowed their lack of awareness of her presence to go away again. She didn’t, because behind her stood a tall Twi’lek with her hand over Leia’s shoulder, giving her all the support to go through a simple conversation.

Well, maybe  _ simple  _ was a euphemism. Leia dreaded finding out wherever that conversation would take them.

She was a princess, though. She had been raised to sit through the most uncomfortable situations without ever losing her composure. And if she had to employ the veil of the Ice Princess to face the people that she loved, then so be it.

She didn’t think anyone would be able to deal with everything she felt inside, anyway.

Gathering all that was left of her strength, she took one step ahead, cleared her throat, and said the most mundane thing.

“Hi.”

Her voice had been sweet and calm, she hadn’t expected it to startle everyone around her. Han and Padmé abruptly turned their faces to her, and Luke nearly flew into a sitting position without any grace.

And when nobody said anything, Leia became self-conscious and wrapped one arm around herself. She refused to give in and look down, though.

“Ern, hi,” Leia said again, trying to sound more convincing — was it to them or to herself. She noticed how rapidly Padmé had started to breathe, and Luke was aching to jump onto his feet and go to her, and Han had essentially stopped breathing.

_ All because of her _ .

She cleared her throat again, hoping that would make it easier for the words to come out. She wasn’t so sure it worked.

“Well, I…” she tried, but she had no idea where to begin. It wasn’t supposed to be  _ this hard _ . “Okay, well. I’m here, and I would like to apologize for—”

“Don’t apologize,” Ameera said behind her, in a whisper so loud that probably everyone in the room had heard it as well. 

“Oh,” Leia was taken aback with that command because she had practiced a few speeches on the way to her office and  _ all  _ of them started with attempts at reparation. Now, she wasn’t sure how to proceed. “Oh.”

“Ameera is right,” Padmé finally dared to say something. Out of the three of them, she seemed to be the most skilled one with words, and solid words were everything that Leia needed. “Don’t apologize for something you had no control over. Don’t apologize for the crimes committed against you.”

Leia pressed her lips together as she tried to accept those assertions.

“R—right, sorry,” she grimaced as soon as she heard herself. “Sith,  _ sorry _ ,” her cheeks were tainted with red and she placed both her hands over her face, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why this is so difficult”

Padmé pushed herself up, although she didn’t take any steps ahead. “You’re right, and it shouldn’t be hard, because you’re not the one supposed to do the talking here. You don’t owe us anything, no apologies, no explanations. Because of that, I ask you to hear me instead.”

Hesitantly, Leia brought her hands down and nodded.

“When I first learned that you and your brother were alive, I became the happiest woman,” Padmé started, “I thought to myself,  _ I can finally have a second chance.  _ I could finally reclaim everything I had lost after Anakin turned, and I would finally get to be happy again.  _ Truly  _ happy, as I had been when I was pregnant with you, when I was overwhelmed by Anakin’s love for me. I put myself above you and your brother because I was so exhilarated to be near you again that I couldn’t picture a reality in which things  _ weren’t  _ okay. But they’re not, Leia, and we shouldn’t pretend they are.”

Leia thought she was stronger than that, but her eyes soon fell to the ground.

“You’re right,” Leia admitted hoarsely. “I’m not okay.”

For his first reaction, Han’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected that, he hadn’t anticipated that Leia would finally see it for herself — she was far from being alright. A sense of pride washed over him and he wanted nothing more than to rush her and tell her how proud he was of her.

He didn’t.

“I am not coping well with my past,” Leia said bluntly. “Now that the war is settled in and the rush of adrenaline of the battlefield is gone, I have nothing else to content with than myself. I thought defeating the Empire would finally bring me some sense of peace, but I have only known turmoil ever since we took our last stance at Endor.”

She finally got the words out, and they finally seemed to be listening to her. She didn’t stop.

“My mind is… I can’t quieten my mind. Everything I do, my mind is screaming at me about everything that has happened, and I… I don’t  _ know  _ how to accept it. Alderaan’s destruction, my treatment aboard the Death Star, everything that happened on Tatooine, learning that Darth Vader is my  _ father _ … I thought that surviving the pain of those occasions was an achievement. But when that pain follows me everywhere that I go, I understand that it’s not.”

She listed the worst events of her life as vaguely as possible. She wasn’t  _ ready  _ yet to start talking about them openly — perhaps, she would never be. Acknowledging they happened should be enough.

But was it?

“I am sorry, I truly am, for everything that I’ve put you through. I understand that I’ve been rude and cruel to all of you, and there’s no justifying that. My mental issues shouldn’t be an excuse to treat each of you poorly, and I hope you can forgive me for all the times that I’ve hurt you. And if you can’t—well, I guess that’s okay. I’m just… I’m so drawn back. All my life, I’ve known my stance, but now I have no more ground to stand and… I’m terrified.”

She was giving so much more of herself than she thought she would; for once in her life, she wasn’t scared of the repercussion.

She knew those weren’t the people that would turn on her.

“I’m terrified, of everything,” she repeated, her voice starting to falter. “I’m scared of myself. The war has taken everything from me, I’m no longer that princess that left Alderaan one day, certain she would be back home in the next. And I’m not sure I like the person I’ve become. Because the war… the war  _ broke  _ me.”

“You’re not broken,” Luke whispered; he spoke so low that his words risked getting lost in the air.

“I am,” Leia emphasized; that was the one thing she was certain of. “What happened here earlier today is proof that the war destroyed me. I understand I can’t apologize for… for  _ that,  _ so I won’t. I just beg you to try and understand that as scared as you were to see me like that, it didn’t even compare to my fright of being stuck within myself.”

Tiredly, she ran her hand across the beautifully crafted braid of her hair.

“I guess, what I’m trying to say is—I’m sorry, for the things I’ve said and done while… while I was like  _ that.  _ Han, I know that you would never hurt me. Not ever, not like  _ they  _ hurt me. But I… I thought I was back  _ there,  _ and I was so scared of the pain that I projected onto you. I sincerely apologize, because I know how much it must have hurt you to think that you  _ had  _ hurt me. You didn’t. And Luke—I’m sorry for losing it when you tried to comfort me through our connection in the Force. I  _ know  _ you were trying to help, but Luke… You know what it’s like to have someone going through your head without your consent. It’s not nice, it’s not pleasant, it makes me feel violated in ways you couldn’t possibly comprehend. But I do need you to understand that it wasn’t your fault. Everything that’s ever happened is  _ his  _ fault, and—you’re not him, Luke. You’re not Vader, and I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.  _ I’m sorry. _ ”

She kept her head high, but she could no longer look at anybody.

“I guess… I guess that’s why Threepio made me panic. Because I can’t accept that he would ever make something good, much less that I would  _ benefit  _ from his goodness. I’m sorry, I… I  _ can’t  _ be near Threepio, not as of now. Maybe, not ever again. And I hate myself for it because Threepio has always been a… a friend to me. But the simple thought of him makes my skin crawl, makes me sick to my stomach, because I hate  _ him.  _ I hate him! I will never stop hating the man that broke me, and for  _ that,  _ I won’t apologize.”

Her voice started shaking the moment she started talking about Darth Vader, and she hated him even more for the terror his memory alone brought her.

“In the grand scheme of things, no, I’m not alright,” she repeated. “And I… I need you to be patient with me, because I don’t know when I’m going to relapse again, or when I’m going to get better. I don’t know  _ how  _ to. I am damaged goods, but I also beg of you not to give up on me. Because if you do… There won’t be any guarantee that I won’t give up on myself. I need you. I need  _ you _ , if I’m going to see the end of this battle against myself. You’re all my anchor, you’re the one good thing in my life, and I… Well, I guess this is me asking for help. So, please,  _ please _ , help me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Her voice became small as she reached the end, and a couple of droplets escaped her eyes. Looking down, she clasped her hands in front of her and stopped talking.

She wanted to run away again, in fear of their response. She didn’t, and she was proud of herself for that.

_ Small steps,  _ she reminded herself.

Leia did not process when or how Luke got to his feet, and she slightly jumped when she saw him next to her. He didn’t notice her reaction, and she smiled coyly at him.

“Can I…” his voice was as small and scared as hers, “Can I hug you?”

Her jaw tensed at the question, and then she realized — there was no harm in that.

He stepped forward and welcomed her in his embrace. She was small and tiny next to him, and he held her tight, his arms around her back and his head buried in her hair.

“I’m so relieved you came back, Leia,” he whispered.

Leia knew the weight of words, and that his precise choice of vocables didn’t come by chance. She pressed the side of her face to his chest and tried to find peace from the rhythm of his heart.

For the first time ever since she could remember, his and hers weren’t in sync. Their sacred bond had been shattered, and the golden strings of the Force no longer tied them together.

Leia hugged him tighter at the realization of the damage she had done; she broke the most important link of her life, and she wasn’t sure there would ever be any repair.

“I’m sorry I made you think that I wouldn’t.”

He pulled back; he needed her to look at him in the eyes as he said, “Stop apologizing. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

Leia took in a deep breath, and Luke couldn’t tell whether she was nodding or trembling. 

There was a hand in her arm, and she looked to her side to find Padmé there. Padmé, with her kind eyes and soft expression, almost — almost promising that everything would be alright over time.

Leia almost found peace there.

“We’re here for you, Leia,” Padmé promised. Part of her had been terrified that Leia had been referring to Han and Luke only, but when the princess tried to smile at her, Padmé understood she was  _ included. _

For the first time, she had been included in Leia's life.

She despised the circumstances, though; she found herself wondering if she’d rather have no bonds with her daughter if it meant that said daughter didn’t need to go through unbelievable trauma — and for the first time in her life, Padmé couldn’t find an answer.

“Reaching out for help is the hardest step, but it’s the first step towards recovery,” Padmé carried on. “For that, I am so proud of you.”

Leia bowed in gratitude, although she was trying to hide her emotions more than anything.

At last, Leia searched for Han. He was still seating behind her desk, his gaze intense on her figure.

He did not attempt to move. Neither did she.

Thankfully, Padmé was there and she understood exactly what they needed. “Come on. Let’s give them some space.”

She gave the princess a tight squeeze in the arm before she walked again. Ameera gently patted her shoulder and followed the female human outside. Luke leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

“I’ll see you back at the base.”

And then, there were two.

Leia hugged herself, biting on her tongue to keep herself silent. She had said her peace; it was time to listen only.

Allowing a few seconds to pass with their complete solitude. Han rose to his feet. He circled around the table until he was face to face with her, and he didn’t care that she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

“I love you.”

Leia’s lungs froze with oxygen at the suddenness of it all.

“W—What…?”

“I love you,” Han repeated, pausedly. He would say it over and over again, how many times necessary until she  _ listened  _ to him. “Right before Padmé came into the picture, Luke warned me that I didn’t express my feelings for you enough. Because I  _ assumed  _ you already knew of it.”

“But I do,” Leia said, thumbs rubbing the skin of the opposite arm. “I  _ do  _ know, Han.”

“Do you? Because you don’t trust me enough to  _ talk  _ to me, sweetheart,” Han said gently. “I’m not saying it’s your fault. It’s mine, for never stepping out of my comfort zone to remind you  _ every day  _ that I love you. You’ve changed my life. I don’t ever want to live without you.”

Leia pursued her lips. “I know, Han.”

“I  _ love  _ you, Leia. You’re the love of my life, I can’t leave you,” he said once again, and he spoke from his heart. “But you… You’re constantly leaving me. When you’re drawn out, when you refuse to let me carry your burdens with you, you’re choosing to leave me, to stray away from me. And it  _ kills  _ me, every time, to watch you go. To  _ let  _ you go. So I need you to understand that  _ I love you.  _ I’m terrified that you’ll slip so far away that I’ll lose you and you won’t ever know of the depth of my feelings for you. Tomorrow is promised to no one,  _ everything  _ might be gone by tomorrow, so I’m telling you now. I’m praying that you’ll listen to me, just this once.”

She felt so small.  _ So small.  _

“I’m so sorry, Han. I promise I’ll be better.”

Han smiled sadly at her; from everything he had said, that was the one thing she chose to focus on?

He stepped forward and involved her in his arms, and — what was it with all these people randomly deciding to hug her today? 

Ultimately, she decided not to think too much into it, and simply allow the safe harbor of his embrace to comfort her.

And yet, she didn’t hold back.

“It’s so hard to talk about it,” she confessed in a painful whisper. “Today… Today took everything from me.”

With his heart tight, he conceded. “Let’s go home, okay? Let’s just go home, Leia.”

Leia nodded. For once, she couldn’t wait to lay down in bed and give in to her exhaustion, knowing that Han would be right next to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember, back when Ameera first appeared, that I mentioned that Ameera means _princess_ and yall were free to read that however you wanted?? yeah hahahaha her story is mirrored to Leia's, and I always had it planned that Leia would seek her out for advice. like I said, this chapter is one of my favorites, so let me know if you've liked it as I do!!!


	25. Twenty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ern, hello. sorry for my brief absence, aaaa, there were some people being extremely rude in my PMs regarding this story and whelp, I needed to take a step back. not saying that I'm above criticism, I'm well aware that I'm not, but there's a difference being providing constructive criticism and trashing somebody's work simply because you didn't like the course a story took lmao, so I needed to take a step back to fall in love with this story again. but I'm here, and I'm back, and I apologize for disappearing.
> 
> but my break was enough for me to come up with the plot for two sequel stories for this universe??? whelp you'll let me know if you're interested in more Pain. 
> 
> sorry, I'm rambling. onwards, now.

Padmé drew out a tired breath as she wandered aimlessly around the Senatorial complex.

Sure, sending C-3PO equally aimlessly after R2-D2 had been a good idea before, it had been one less trouble to worry about in the spur of the moment; now that nobody knew where he was, it had become a frustration to frantically search for the golden droid amidst the complexity of the Senate building, and she was starting to share Leia’s repudiation for the droid.

Okay, maybe she was exaggerating. C-3PO had been her friend and her ally for so many years, and it had been a gift to her by the man she loved; the droid would always have a special place in her heart. But — Padmé was tired; she was  _ exhausted.  _ After the overwhelming conversation they had had in Leia’s office, amidst everything that had happened, she had been counting the minutes until they reached the rebel base so she could take a long shower to cleanse her soul and lay down in bed where she would sleep like there was no tomorrow.

She was tired; she was exhausted from putting it up together. She wanted nothing more than to find somewhere quiet where she could be alone and — where she could  _ cry.  _ Just cry. Her day had started so well, she had been in  _ harmony  _ with everything and everyone around her, she had been  _ happy.  _ Now, the day had taken a ton out of her, and, truth be told, she wasn’t coping  _ well _ .

Which, all things considered, she recognized as a little selfish of her. But she couldn’t control her emotions, and she felt  _ sick  _ to her stomach. Padmé was no fool; she was well aware that terrible things had happened in the course of the war, but seeing it with her own eyes and hearing the pain that it brought to her loved ones made her dizzy.

It was a little hard to breathe, knowing that her  _ daughter  _ was facing agonizing pain and keeping it all to herself. Egotistically, she wondered if things could have been different if somehow she had gotten to raise Leia, and Luke. She wondered if she would be able to protect them from all the harm and loss they had suffered in so little years of life.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She would do anything for them. She would do  _ everything,  _ but she could not dwell on things that had already happened. It wouldn’t be for anybody’s benefit.

Especially not —  _ Leia’s. _

The hard truth that even herself struggled to recognize — Padmé had grown  _ soft.  _ It had been over two decades since she had last fought in a political arena or drawn a weapon to shoot somebody, and those two decades of being nothing more than a  _ housewife  _ had changed her. She wouldn’t define if for good or for bad, but she was no longer fully prepared to deal with the carnage of war.

Maybe she had been a fool for believing that everything would be all right once she put Paz Naminé to sleep and raised Padmé Naberrie from the dead. Maybe, she had been too naïve for believing that her only struggle with meeting her  _ children  _ would be their acceptance of hers. Maybe, she had been too insensitive for always putting her fear of rejection over the bad that had inevitably happened during the war.

Had she been overly stupid or had she simply been blind? Either way, she damned herself for her ignorance.

She promised herself she would do better, that she would  _ be  _ there for Leia, whenever Leia needed.

And if things got  _ so messed  _ up that it came to it, Padmé promised she would love her enough to walk away. It would be the hardest thing she’d ever do, but she would.

Padmé was distracted;  _ too  _ distracted. She was barely putting any effort into looking for C-3PO — who, according to Luke, couldn’t spend the night alone or he would start having abandonment issues as well — and dealing with his  _ other  _ issues was already handful enough — but the droid was the least of her concerns.

She could only think of Leia, and what she might be able to do to help her. But the sad truth was — Padmé didn’t  _ know  _ Leia enough to help her, she barely knew anything past the surface that Leia allowed the public eye to see. She knew it was a slow process, that she needed to gain Leia’s unconditional trust before anything, and that she  _ definitely  _ wasn’t the open book that her brother was, but Padmé only wished Leia would give her some signs on what she could  _ do  _ other than to idly sit in the background while watching Leia suffer.

Because Padmé had  _ no  _ idea what to do. Her words might have given Leia some consolation before, but she knew when action was  _ needed _ and the importance of acting before it was too late. After all, she had fought in a war herself, and maybe comparing residual trauma to fighting a war wasn’t the best analogy, but — it was  _ exactly  _ what it was.

She didn’t talk about it much, but Padmé had gone through her enough share of trauma during her youth when she was little older than Leia herself. Her trauma had become stale, she had learned how to live with her past, she had been  _ forced  _ to adapt to a life without her husband and her children. She didn’t talk about it because — it was in the past, and she was happy and thriving in the present now. Besides, she hardly thought her trauma would compare to what Leia was going through right now — well, she didn’t think trauma should be compared; trauma was still trauma, and it was powerful enough to leave anyone on their knees no matter how small and insignificant it was to the outside eye.

Maybe she should take one day to sit down with Leia and just put it all out, so she would know that she wasn’t alone, and she wasn’t the first person to lose it all and survive to see the wreckage. Or, maybe not. Maybe hearing of other people’s traumas while already dealing with your own wasn’t the best way to go.

Padmé grunted, loudly, to herself and to anybody who dared to listen. She had no idea what to do, and she despised these feelings of impotence.

She was so distracted with her inner flux of consciousness that if she came to take a turn to immediately run into C-3PO, she would most likely crash into his golden metallic body and only notice it when she hit the floor.

* * *

If Ameera had to pick one word to describe her mood, annoyance wouldn’t even come close to it. 

_ Come to the Senate with us,  _ they had asked her,  _ We will have a nice time together,  _ they had told her. That statement had been a lie.

She found herself looking for the most troublesome protocol droid in the  _ galaxy  _ with neglect, yelling sentences of the sort, “ _ Here, droidy droidy droidy,”  _ that would be more beneficial if they were looking for some lost pet, rather than some stupid droid.

Which, of course, she didn’t  _ care,  _ and she didn’t make any efforts  _ to  _ care in the slightest.  _ A stupid droid  _ that had somehow brought the most resilient person she knew to tears. She didn’t understand why everybody — Luke — was making a big deal out of it. To hell with that droid.

Above all things, she had a headache. The galaxy’s worst headache, she would dare to say.

Well, maybe she was dealing with too many hyperboles. She couldn’t help it — it was just one of those days, where everything that was already bad somehow became worse.

It wasn’t a bad day — it  _ hadn’t  _ started as a bad day. She wouldn’t even consider it had  _ become  _ a bad day. Still — it had taken a ton of her.

She didn’t regret it, not a single part of it. She had helped a troubled soul, and she had gained a friend and an ally on the princess. She wouldn’t throw any of that away; Duaa would have been so  _ proud  _ that for once Ameera was out there, helping people in need, rather than selfishly only caring for herself.

_ Duaa would have been proud,  _ and that was the only thing that would ever matter to Ameera. However — there should be some guidelines for people with trauma helping other people with trauma because talking to Leia about her misfortunes had brought Ameera some memories back that she would rather keep locked.

She would  _ never  _ forget, but she’d rather not remember.

But the memories were out now, and there was nothing Ameera wished more than to go back to the rebel base, take a bath so hot that it would make her skin crawl, and sleep forever so that not even Padmé’s annoying voice telling her it was time to get up for breakfast would awake her.

There was only a goddamn droid that needed to be found before they could call it a day. Something about abandonment issues and some other gibberish Luke rambled about that Ameera had made sure not to pay attention to.

She was becoming a pro in ignoring Luke’s dramatics. He was like a mini version of Padmé, but  _ worse _ .

Not that she minded either of them, but — ah, she was tired and ready to call it a day. Still, she hoped she wouldn’t be the one to find C-3PO, because, in the mood she was in, she was very capable of dismantling him at the first sight of him. 

And that’s exactly what she did upon hearing a noise coming from a turn ahead of her. Ameera was no fool, and she wasn’t about to risk her life on the possibility of some stupid Imperial waiting to take her out, so she drew her blaster out, ready to kill whoever was on the other side. 

* * *

Luke was restless, and he walked with raggedy steps around the Senate with too many things on his mind and only one task at his hand. 

He had lost count of the time passed ever since his little party broke apart, each of them going in a different way hoping to catch signs of a shining droid aimlessly walking around. He conceded that there had been merit to his idea of sending the droid away hours before, but his great idea was only giving them grief as of now.

Luke just prayed that C-3PO hadn’t decided to look for R2-D2 outside of the Senate.

Well, considering the droid’s — lack of — guts, it was highly unlikely.

Luke had a lot on his mind. His worry extended to his sister, somewhere else in the Senatorial complex, somewhere hidden away from him.  _ From him.  _ Luke was worried; he had unforgivably violated her when he entered her mind without her consent, and some actions couldn’t be taken back. 

He feared that he might have lost her forever.

Ever since that misunderstanding, he had been  _ empty.  _ Like a part of him had been yanked from him. Ever since their connection was severed. 

He had forgotten what life without her there felt like. Now, hollowness became him.

He wondered if she was feeling as unwell as he was. For her own sake, he hoped not.

If anyone dared to ask him  _ how  _ that had happened, he wouldn’t be able to tell. In the grand scheme of things, he didn’t consider himself to know much about the Force, just enough to  _ survive _ , and this — this was completely out of his reach.

He’d wanted to bring her comfort, that was all he’d wanted to do. So, he had closed his eyes and extended his ethereal being towards her, until they became one again — as they had been in the womb. He had only intended to bring her peace; instead, he brought her to hell, and her panic had been so severe that she mercilessly pushed him out of her mind.

And it  _ hurt.  _ He couldn’t remember the last time he had hurt so much.

He had harmed her; it didn’t matter that it had been unintentional —  _ he had hurt her.  _ The awareness of his deeds made it nearly impossible to breathe. Even if Leia came to forgive him, he would never forgive himself. 

_ “Get out of my head! Get out of my head!” _

Leia’s desperate voice was perpetuated to his mind; he couldn’t stop listening to her cries for mercy. Those words haunted him in the physical world, and they would haunt him when he dared to close his eyes to sleep. 

Luke knew exactly what it felt like to have Vader ravaging his mind; it was invasive, it was painful, somehow he had found the precise piece of information powerful enough to bring Luke to his knees — his fear of having his sister brought to the dark side on his place. He wondered how Leia had survived Vader’s mind probing without revealing a single information about the rebellion.

_ She was so strong. _

Luke sighed, checking a new turn for C-3PO. He had wanted nothing more than to ask his sister to establish their connection once more,  _ their sacred bond,  _ but he was so terrified of the consequences, that he would not only lose their empirical bond but their physical link as well, that he had cowered in his silence.

He would rather lose part of himself than all of her.

At least — she was alive.  _ Alive.  _ He’d easily rather never feel her presence in the Force again if it meant he could keep her alive.

Just alive.

Still, it didn’t help that he couldn’t feel her emotions at that precise moment. He wanted to know what she was feeling, what she was thinking. He  _ needed  _ to know that she didn’t resent him. Because the Force knew he resent himself.

It didn’t matter that she had explicitly told him that she didn’t fault him for what had happened. Leia was a great liar, and it wouldn’t be out of her element to lie to him to make him feel better when  _ she  _ was the one in need of support. 

All their relationship, ever since the moment she first met him, Leia had looked after him. She had always put aside her personal struggles to make sure  _ he  _ was alright. Never mind that she had just been tortured and saw her home planet become dust, he had just lost the man he had known for two days altogether and she was there by his side, smiling at him and offering him words of comfort. Never mind that she had just watched Han, the love of her life, be frozen in carbonite, he had just lost his hand and gotten his ass kicked by Vader and she was there by his side, holding his remaining hand and taking care of him. Never mind that she had just endured unimaginable horrors under Jabba’s leash, he had just watched Master Yoda die and she was there by his side, with her gentle smile and hands on his shoulder, asking him what was wrong and when he hadn’t said anything.

_ She had always been so strong. _

Granted, he didn’t actually think his reaction to the things he had gone through was silly, or in vain. Leia would always remind him of that, that there was no shame in feeling grief and sorrow, and like a little bit of his light had just been put out. A little bit hypocritical, considering that  _ she  _ never allowed herself to feel like that — or, if she did, then she did it in privacy, and he wasn’t sure that was any better. 

Now, he only wished to return the favor. To protect her and to offer her comfort and to remind her that she wasn’t alone. She had always carried the burden of being strong for him; it was time he did it for her. 

Whether she would accept it or not — that was a whole different conversation. Smiling gently to himself, he shook his head at the image of his sister. She was the most stubborn person he had  _ ever  _ met, and that notion brought him warmth.

He wrapped his arms around himself, holding tight to that feeling. Maybe that was how  _ normal  _ people reacted when they thought of their loved ones when there weren’t Force connections tying them together. That feeling that their loved ones were never truly away from them. He liked that.

Luke held tight and promised never to let go.

* * *

They walked arm in arm, Leia for once letting the entirety of her guard down and placing it on Han’s hands, as she leaned her head against his upper arm and allowed it to rest there.

Without a single care in the world. There was hardly a living soul around in the Senate, anyway. Security was still scarce and most soon-to-be senators had already left for the day. There were just them, and Leia was too tired to be anyone other than her true self. 

And they were nearly reaching the hangar where the Falcon was stationed when the princess stopped on her track without warning. The suddenness caused their arms to untangle as Han took one more step before he realized something was missing _ ,  _ and he turned around on his heels.

“Leia? What is it?”

She had that look on her face again, where her body was present but her mind resided galaxies away. That look terrified him; Leia always relied on being completely absorbed at the moment, being attuned to her surroundings was her greatest weapon and he really,  _ really  _ didn’t want her to start feeling so sad that she spaced out again.

“I need to do something,” she announced eventually, her voice equally distant. 

“Okay…” he looked at her funnily, folding his arms across his chest. “What is it?”

“Go ahead to the Falcon, I’ll meet you there in a few minutes,” she instructed, “I need to go fetch something.”

He knitted his brows together. “Why can’t I come with you?!”

Leia sighed, looking down. “It’s something I must do for myself.”

Han crossed his arms. “Nothing wrong with doing something for yourself  _ while  _ in the company of others, sweetheart.”

She smiled sadly. “Yes, you’re right. This is something I need to do alone, though.”

The miffed look across his face soon dissolved into nothing; he  _ knew  _ there was no point trying to argue with her when she set her mind to something. Instead, he walked to her, and tenderly kissed her forehead.

“Don’t take too long, alright?” he pleaded, “It’s been a long day. A long bath and a massage are waiting for you.”

She chuckled lightly. Rather than automatically stating that she was  _ fine,  _ she chose to appreciate someone looking after her, taking  _ care  _ of her — because  _ the Force  _ knew that she was too tired to take care of herself.

“I won’t. I promise.”

With that, she walked away, leaving Han with a tight sensation of impotence behind. He watched with a tight heart as she disappeared from his sight, anxiety washing over his body; today had been —  _ something.  _ There had been progress and there had been regress, and he was at loss.

Today had been important so Leia would finally realize that she wasn’t alone, that she got  _ people  _ that would march into hell themselves for her. However, Han was also terrified that her — irrational — humiliation of breaking down in front of her  _ family  _ would only send her hiding further inside her cocoon. 

He dug his nails deep inside his palm —  _ one day at a time.  _ Tonight, he would take her home and he would hold her in his arms and he would say the words she needed to hear. Or he would give her the space to say the things she needed to say, whichever came first.

He would be there, and he prayed that it would mean  _ something. _

* * *

Leia found herself in front of her father’s old office.

It had been  _ so long  _ since she had last been there, longer than before Palpatine dismantled the Senate, and yet, the route to that one very specific office was imprinted into the back of her head. Something precious that she would never forget.

She had told herself she wouldn’t come here; she was  _ terrified  _ of coming here and opening up a door to emotions she wasn’t ready to handle. But maybe, if she tried to be strong enough, she would be able to enter the room, find the very specific thing that she came for, and leave again before her emotions started to suffocate her.

After that, she would never need to come back here again. 

With her head high, she inserted the code and the door slipped open for her.

A flash of memories took over her; she was sixteen again, entering her father’s office while trying to look respectful — because she  _ deserved  _ to be there, not because she was a princess.

Because even as a princess, some people tended to look at her like she was a spoiled wealthy, naïve little girl. They might have been right about the wealthy, and the naïve, and the little — speaking strictly from a height point of view — but Leia Organa was anything but  _ spoiled.  _

After she fully committed herself to the rebellion, her peers and superiors still saw her as much. Even now that she was  _ certain  _ she had gained their respectability, someone would make a comment that made her blood boil. How could she  _ possibly  _ be a spoiled princess when she didn’t even have a planet to call her own anymore?

People infuriated her. They took her for  _ nothing  _ when she was everything.

Leia looked around the anteroom. It was exactly like she remembered it, aside for a few layers of dust. She smiled tightly to herself, letting one single feeling of being  _ home  _ claim her as she made her way to the main office.

And as the door hissed open, there was a jab to her heart when she realized that her father wasn’t there.

The realization stole the oxygen from her lungs and made her legs weak.  _ Her father was supposed to be there.  _ Her father was supposed to have lived to see the rebellion he had built from the scratch win,  _ Alderaan  _ was supposed to have lived to become part of this brand new world.  _ She  _ was supposed to have gone home.

And her second realization came — she needed to get out of there before it all became too much and she had her second breakdown of the day. Leia was used to these feelings, and rightfully locking them away in the back of her mind, but being so closely connected to her past life and everything that was supposed to be brought her to her knees.

With a breath stuck in her throat, she rushed inside to find that  _ one  _ thing she refused to leave without. She had come this far, she  _ needed  _ it _.  _ That one, simple holograph picture that her father kept at his desk; the only intimate touch that he had ever allowed in his office, because he was terrified that his political power might bring them harm, but the thought of going the day without seeing their faces for support was somehow even more terrifying.

A picture of the royal family when they were no more than — Breha, Bail, and Leia. 

With her lower lip trembling, she looked at the picture in her hands, brushing her thumbs delicately over the glass that kept the hologram from jumping out. It was funny how memory worked; she could never forget all the bad memories that haunted her daily — yet, for reasons that weren’t  _ fair _ , she had started to forget how her parents looked like.

The two people she loved the most — time was forcing her to forget the sound of their laugh, and the smell of their, and the way their lips curled up in smiles whenever they saw her, and all those mundane memories that she shared with them.

She brought the picture close to her heart, her eyes filled with tears. She promised them in a silent prayer —  _ I will never forget. _

_ She would never forget. _

Swallowing her cry, Leia hurried out with the picture still pressed to her chest. A strange urge came to her; she couldn’t wait to go to Han and show him,  _ “Look at them! These are my parents, Han. The ones who chose to love and protect me even if it would cost their lives. Look at them…!” _

She would hold tight to this picture forever; it was her most valuable possession.

It was her only possession.

* * *

When Padmé took a turn ready to collide, she didn’t  _ actually  _ expect she would collide into someone.

When Ameera took a turn ready to kill, she hadn’t actually expected there would be someone there for her to shoot at.

Padmé let out a loud, startled squeak when she saw a blaster pointed at her. Ameera let out a grave howl at the sight of living breathing life standing in front of them — and then, they burst into laughter.

“Damnit, Ameera,” Padmé said first, “How long have you been walking around ready to kill?”

By then, the Twi’lek was safely tucking the weapon back into the holster. “Ever since I was about eleven years old facing my first PMS, give or take.”

Padmé rolled her eyes until they reached the back of her head —  _ there  _ was the Ameera she knew and loved. After they had departed Leia’s office, she couldn’t help but notice the unusual edginess coming from her friend, and she hadn’t had the chance to ask what was going on. Thinking back, Ameera and Leia had come to find them together, sharing a bond that wasn’t there before —  _ especially  _ considering that Ameera was a little weary to meeting royalty — whatever  _ that  _ meant. Padmé concluded that the two young women must have talked, and seeing as Leia had found the strength to come forward, it  _ had  _ worked to Leia’s benefit, and Padmé was happy to see some progress coming from the princess. Still, Padmé was well aware that Ameera had  _ lots  _ of unsolved issues regarding her own trauma, and opening up about it might have taken more from Ameera than she was ready to give.

Either way, it had been a  _ long  _ day for everybody. Just like her, Padmé was certain Ameera was counting the moments until they were all back at the rebel base.

“I take it that you haven’t found Threepio, either,” Padmé remarked.

“Oh no, I have,” Ameera said, pointing to her side, “You can’t see him?  _ Good.  _ You see, the twins might have this Force power, but I have just come to learn that I have this  _ Invisible  _ power. And seeing how Threepio was only giving everyone a headache, I thought I should make him my first experimental subject.”

Padmé blew a puff of air between her lips. “ _ You  _ are the most infuriating person I have ever met.”

Ameera pouted. “I beat even Palpatine?”

“Yes,” Padmé reassured. “Palpatine never made me want to pull my own hair out. Only his.”

She considered it with a head tilt. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.”

Ameera shrugged, a mischievous smile across. “You think your idiotic son will believe my story and we finally get to go home?”

Tiredly, Padmé scratched her head. “You know what — he actually  _ might.  _ He might believe you were Force sensitive all along and you can learn these new ways of the Force together.”

Ameera grimaced. “He takes all the fun away from pranks. I don’t like him very much.”

Padmé chuckled, and they started walking side by side in comfortable silence. They had already found each other, they were already  _ both  _ annoyed with Luke depriving them of an early night, and, most importantly, they were very prone to intimate Luke together if the young Jedi also happened to run into them and judge that they weren’t doing a  _ proper  _ job to find C-3PO.

C-3PO had  _ definitely  _ been through worse things than spending the night alone in his long life as a protocol droid, and it would have been incredibly easier to bring out R2-D2 on the following day to locate him — but Padmé wasn’t about to get on her son’s bad terms over such a frivolous thing as a protocol droid.

She would be powerless if Ameera decided she had had enough and snapped at Luke, though. Silently, she might even encourage her friend.

Padmé stole a sideways glance from the Twi’lek. Ameera had her head high, her lips firmly pressed together, and one hand on her hip, strategically close to her blaster so she wouldn’t spare a second if they came across peril.

Padmé folded her arms, studying her friend rather than paying attention to where she was headed. She didn’t doubt that Ameera hadn’t noticed her eyes on her, and if the Twi’lek decided to play a prank and lead Padmé straight into a wall, Padmé wouldn’t see it coming. 

“Are you feeling better, Ameera?”

A grim took over her face. “Feeling better would imply that I wasn’t feeling well to begin with.”

“Well…” Padmé corked up her brows, “You were looking a little white earlier.”

Ameera squinted her eyes, “Where did you even get that from?!”

“Well…” Padmé tried again, “Maybe on your skin looking a little whiter.”

“Physically impossible,” Ameera grunted, “Or have you failed to notice that I’m  _ blue _ ?!”

“Metaphorically speaking.”

She made a face, “Not sure even in metaphors that I can turn white, either.”

Padmé rolled her eyes.

“Okay. I’ll rephrase, then,” Padmé said. “Earlier today, after we left Leia’s office, you were… A little tense. And now you’re very alert, with your hand at your blaster all the time, ready for anything that might happen. I mean, you were ready to shoot me, Ameera, and maybe I’m a little concerned as to why you’re acting this way.”

Unconsciously, her hand immediately followed to her holster, and she tried to casually slide her hand to her side then when she realized what she had done. Then, she thought to herself,  _ screw it,  _ and her hand returned to the holster. She felt safer with it there, anyway.

Padmé made a face as if to say that Ameera had just proved her point.

It was Ameera’s turn to roll her eyes, and she blurted out, “It’s your stupid daughter.”

Padmé drew a tired breath. So, she had been right. The two of them had been sharing their trauma and it had brought out bad memories to Ameera. “Ah. I assumed the two of you had bonded, and I’m so sorry that talking to her has made you relive your own trauma.”

Ameera tilted her head towards Padmé abruptly.  _ Sure,  _ Padmé wasn’t all that wrong, but she wasn’t about to go confessing  _ that,  _ when that wasn’t the root of her issues.

“It’s not — Your stupid Jedi daughter told me that she feels like something  _ bad  _ is going to happen, and now she’s  _ cursed  _ me into being alerted at any potential threat.”

If Ameera had — allegedly — been white before, it didn’t even compare to how fast and vividly the color drained from Padmé’s cheeks. She stopped walking and tightly grabbed Ameera’s arm like she was about to faint and needed help to find her balance.

Ameera immediately caught her, pressing her hand to Padmé’s shoulder to keep her from tripping.

“Padmé?” she called for her, worriedly, “Why are you malfunctioning?”

Padmé let out a hollow chuckle; only Ameera to amuse her in moments like this. Yet, it barely lasted a second.

“What did she say, Ameera?” Padmé asked desperately, “Tell me  _ exactly  _ what she said.”

“Hm, I’m not sure I should—”

“Ameera,” she warned, her voice sober. “I  _ need  _ you to tell me exactly what she told you.”

Ameera had never seen Padmé like that, and she didn’t think she would have broken the princess’ trust under any other circumstances. “I don’t know! Just that she had a bad feeling, okay? She told me she didn’t know when or what or if it would happen at all. She just has a bad feeling, is all!”

Padmé raised both her hands to her head. Oh, her headache had switched on like a flick, and she had to force herself to breathe.

“That’s it?” she questioned. “She didn’t tell you that she was having visions, or that she wants to do something to stop that bad thing from happening?”

“Nope,” Ameera replied earnestly, staring at the other woman blankly. “What the heck is this about, Padmé?!”

When Padmé finally met Ameera’s eyes again, the Twi’lek only found desperation there. She gave her shoulder a tight squeeze for support.

“ _ Anakin, _ ” she whispered the name so lowly, afraid of even the smallest of flies nearby spying on them, “used to have bad feelings too. Bad  _ dreams,  _ predicting the future. And in his quest to stop his dreams from coming true, he was responsible for making them happen. And  _ that _ , his desperation to control things that he couldn’t control, led him into becoming…  _ Vader _ .”

Ameera listened to the story with wild eyes and a small gap between her lips. Then—

“That’s  _ insane _ —”

“But it happened,” Padmé said, a little out of breath. “I swear, Ameera—”

“No, it’s  _ insane  _ that you would be drawing comparisons between Leia and Vader,” Ameera very firmly nodded her head. “The destiny of one isn’t the destiny of the other,  _ regardless  _ of any blood ties they might share.”

Anxiously, Padmé shook her head vigorously. “It’s different. When you’re Force sensitive—”

“No, it’s not, and you need to calm down,” Ameera instructed, starting to pedagogically breathe in and out so that Padmé would mimic her. “Leia is her own person. She isn’t dangerous.”

“Neither was Ana—!”

This time, Padmé stopped herself from talking. No, that wasn’t  _ exactly  _ true; she had seen Anakin in anger long before she started to see the change in him, and how far he was willing to go to satisfy his rage — including murdering innocent women and children. On the other hand, she  _ had  _ seen Leia angry before, and as sharp as her words had been to anyone around her, she had never gone as far as to physically hurt someone.

Well, was that a different kind of darkness? No no no, she refused to go there.

“You’re… right,” Padmé tried, and her tone would need a lot of working before she could convince anyone. “Leia is her own person.”

“Exactly,” Ameera agreed, ignoring the uncertainty in her voice. They both slowly returned to their walking towards no destination at all. “Besides,  _ you  _ were the one telling me not to make any funny remarks between Leia and Vader. It’s strange that you’d be so quick to assume that she is becoming him.”

Padmé sighed loudly; that  _ did  _ sound a lot hypocritical of her. “Sith.  _ Sith,  _ I know. I’m a terrible mother for even making that comparison. I’m just  _ so  _ scared, ‘Meera. I don’t think I will survive if another person that I love turns to the dark side.”

“I don’t think being scared makes you a bad mother, or a bad  _ person _ ,” Ameera argued. “After all, it’s what you do with your fear that matters, you know? Look at Anakin, he was so terrified of his dreams that he did terrible things trying to stop them from becoming true, and you’re here trying to do the same thing to stop Leia’s  _ bad feelings  _ from happening when she herself is being mindful about them. Don’t be an Anakin; be a Leia — trust me, that one is a no brainer. Even better than that—be Padmé. Padmé is wiser than to believe things that haven’t happened yet.”

Padmé smiled coyly at her friend; she couldn’t comprehend how this infuriating girl with no knowledge of the Force or from the things that had taken place amongst the Skywalker family always managed to say the  _ exact  _ thing that Padmé needed to hear.

“I have no idea what I would do without you, Ameera.”

“Hmm,” Ameera pouted her lips, thinking. “Probably starve.”

“Nonsense,” Padmé commented softly, “I’m the one always feeding you.”

“Ah,” Ameera clicked her tongue, “That’s what I want  _ you  _ to believe. By letting you feed me, I remind you that you have to eat as well.”

She chuckled gently. “Fair.”

Ameera smirked gently. “Well, I’ll tell you the same thing that I told Leia. When you go through so much  _ shit  _ and you choose to be good, to  _ remain  _ good, then you don’t have to worry about ‘turning dark’, or whatever. Leia is good, and just that.”

Padmé’s lips shaped a soft grin. “She is very strong. I don’t think I would be able to remain sane if Naboo and everything that I’ve ever known and loved had died on me — I would have turned dark. She amazes me.”

Ameera nodded with her head. “Tell her that.”

“Come on. She knows that already.”

She made a face. “No, she doesn’t.”

Padmé bit down on her lip harshly.

“You’re so desperate to bond with her, but the moment you need to remind her of her worth, you want to back out? What are you scared of, Padmé?”

Padmé wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “That it’ll hit too close to home, and she’ll push me out again.”

“O—oh,” Ameera stuttered — she had  _ not  _ expected that. “Well, you are a very clever woman. You will find a way to balance it.”

She exhaled loudly. “I hope so.”

“ _ Preferably  _ before she turns dark, or whatever.”

Padmé chuckled.

A moment of silence and then, so out of her element, Padmé started to uncontrollably laugh to herself, loud and inelegant, and she could not stop. She laughed, and laughed, and laughed, and they were forced to stop just before another turn.

“You’re scaring me,” Ameera accused, frowning. “Are you  _ broken _ ? Please don’t tell me I’ll have to go tell your stupid son that you’re broken.”

Still, she could not stop. Tears were starting to emerge in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out amidst her giggles. “It’s just — I had a very twisted thought.”

“Do share with the rest of the class, little sister.”

“I can’t,” she continued to laugh, “It’s  _ very,  _ very bad.”

Ameera shrugged. “I won’t tell on you.”

“Ah,” she forced herself to take a long breath to regain her composure; even then, her lips were compressed in a thin line and the corners were curled up in her failed attempts. “God, it’s so bad.”

Ameera crossed her arms impatiently. “I’m waiting.”

“Well,” her face then took the shape of a grim, “I was thinking that — Leia would make a great Lady Vader. She would bring Vader to his knees.”

And then, even though a little more contained, she started giggling again.

Ameera stared at her with big startled eyes. “You  _ are  _ broken.”

“No…!” Padmé laughed it away. “I’m not saying she  _ is  _ going to become Lady Vader, she would just make a great one. A  _ greater  _ one. Think with me—”

“Not sure I want to.”

“She’s cold, she’s incredibly smart, she’s  _ calculated.  _ She’s everything that Vader was but better, because Vader was too easily manipulated and more often than not acted out on his emotions. In the end, Vader was no more than a puppet, but no… Leia would pull the strings. She would be an  _ insane  _ Lady Vader.”

Against her better judgment, Ameera did let out a soft chuckle. “ _ You _ ’ _ re  _ insane.”

“It’s just an observation,” Padmé snorted, “She would kill as Lady Vader. Palpatine would have got nothing on her.”

Ameera grunted. “Yeah? What about Luke?”

“Oh, he would make a disgraceful Vader,” Padmé replied, deadpan —  _ at last _ . 

“That’s very mean of you.”

“Right?!” she made a face at herself. “But Luke is too warm and a little naïve — which  _ is  _ a good thing. Palpatine would ask Luke to hurt someone for information and Luke would start crying on the spot over the simple prospect of having to cause someone pain.”

She offered Padmé a look. “But Leia—Forgive me,  _ Lady Vader  _ wouldn’t.”

“Nope,” Padmé said, “She understands that the end justifies the means.”

Ameera shot up her eyebrows. “Hm.”

“God,” she explained, this time with a nervous laugh as they started walking yet again. “I am a terrible person for thinking this.”

“ _ That  _ you are.”

They turned left.

* * *

Leia was distracted as she wandered around the Senate with her head down.

She didn’t look down out of sorrow, or sadness, or grief, or feeling so down that she couldn’t bear to keep her head up. No, she couldn’t remember the last time she felt so reinvigorated, she couldn’t remember the last time she felt so empowered.

All because of the picture she held in her hands. She couldn’t take her eyes from the picture. She couldn’t stop  _ smiling. _

Granted, she knew that she had promised Han she wouldn’t take too long, and she was so absent-minded that she walked slower than a Bantha. Yet, she knew that, from all people, Han wouldn’t  _ mind.  _ He would be happy for her, he would be so pleased to see her so energized and with something to  _ go on  _ for. She thought of him, and she thought of her parents, and she smiled.

Just smiled.

With a roguish smirk, she gently caressed the face of her parents’ with her thumb, trying to imagine how they would react to learning she had chosen Han —  _ Han,  _ of all people — to unconditionally love and spend the rest of her life with. Not that there was anything  _ wrong  _ with Han, he was simply the opposite of what a Princess of Alderaan would be expected to wed. Han wasn’t suitable  _ at all _ , and he would absolutely hate all the fanfare that came with being royal and having expectancies to meet. He would do it, of course he would, he would do anything for  _ her,  _ but he’d absolutely hate every moment of it.

Leia choked out a laugh — a sob? — as she rubbed the glass over the holographic pictured as if she was rubbing their skins. That wasn’t exactly something she should waste her time daydreaming of; it was very unlikely that Han and Leia would have crossed paths if Alderaan still lived, and she  _ hated  _ that something so terrible had to happen so she would have something so  _ good  _ happen to  _ her _ . 

She despised thinking about that, at all. She would do everything to have Alderaan back, but would  _ everything  _ go as far as giving up Han?

She smiled sadly to herself, for once grateful that history couldn’t be rewritten.

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what her parents would think of Han. Would they approve of him or would they dismiss him completely. She was well aware that the core of every Alderaanian was their peaceful and calm nature, and her father was no exception, but she could picture him very well throwing a fit if he thought Han would be bad for his little girl, that he wouldn’t treat her  _ right.  _ And then, there was her mother — oh, her mother, who had once told her 16 year old self that she wished her daughter’s first love wouldn’t be so suitable, that sometimes it did a girl good to fall for a bit of a  _ scoundrel _ —

Oh, her mother would have loved Han. Leia knew she would.

Her father would too, eventually. He’d need some encouragement from Leia, from  _ Breha,  _ and a lot of love demonstrations from Han, but he was a good man, and Han was a good man, and they would get along just fine.

It was so unfair—God, it was  _ so  _ unfair that she had been stolen from that. Was it so much for a girl to ask? To have her boyfriend and her father be at odds with one another? 

She felt a prickle of tears in her eyes, and she took a long breath to calm herself. She was done crying; she wanted to remember her parents only in their brightest moments, never in her own grief.

So, she looked at the picture, trying to mesmerize all its little details. She had been  _ so  _ happy that day, and from her mother’s tender smile and her father’s proud eyes, she was sure they were too. What she would do to relive one last moment with them.

What she would do to have the chance to say  _ goodbye.  _

Her last memories with her parents were so mundane, so…  _ lame.  _ Knowing that one was close to their deaths enhanced things, made everything seem bigger and more important. Not knowing that your loved ones were on the edge of their last breath, expecting that the world would keep spinning  _ with  _ them, made everything so frivolous and banal that their previously written deaths were so much worse.

Because when she had been brought aboard the Death Star, she was convinced she wouldn’t walk out of there. She had accepted her fate long before the torture droid came into her small cell (but she did embrace it a little more after the torture droid left her), and she could only feel sad for her parents — they had spent such a long time looking for her, and it would hurt so much to lose her like that, without at least having the chance to say  _ goodbye.  _

She had never expected she would live, and everybody else would die.

What made her life more important than the life of her family and the life of her home?

Ah, damnit—her vision started to become blurry, and she felt a painful but too familiar ache coming from her heart. Her hands began to shake, and she felt like she was carrying Alderaan on the palm of her hands, like a dream she could reach but not quite hold.

“Princess Leia! Thank goodness you’ve come for me at last.”

And just like Alderaan met its fate, her dream fell to the ground in the form of thousands of shiny pieces of broken glass.

* * *

Princess Leia could not remove her eyes from the shattered glasses on the floor, which had once composed the one picture left of the last royal family of Alderaan, as her hands trembled in the air, still holding tight to the invisible frame.

She had been distracted; she had been  _ so  _ distracted that she didn’t see C-3PO there, she didn’t even feel his presence, and the sudden sound of his metallic voice when she was so deeply immersed in her grief had shaken her up so badly that her most precious possession slipped from her fingers.

She wouldn’t even accuse C-3PO of it; it had been her, and the startle she endured from having someone sneaking up on her when she had been in her most vulnerable place, and it had been her broken self that somehow managed to do even more damage. 

Whatever — it was done, and there was no undoing it. The light from the hologram flicked out the moment it hit the ground and the smile of her parents no longer existed. 

Still, she was numb; she couldn’t believe yet, she couldn’t connect her feelings to her body because she had found so much strength in that picture, and the picture no longer existed, so neither did her strength. Coping mechanism, she was well aware — she had felt the same aboard the Death Star, where she had been forced to behold Alderaan’s destruction with her own bleeding eyes. Likewise, she was well aware that the realization would creep in a few hours from then, and she didn’t think she was ready to endure the weight of her grief all over again.

So she chose to give her undivided attention to those tiny shards of glass on the ground,  _ feeling  _ everything that could have been but that never would be, but never allowing herself to think about it.

Not even C-3PO’s spooked eyes staring at her, or some voices that had just emerged in the distance would take her attention away from the shattered glass. Something about a Lady Vader? Talking, laughing, she couldn’t be sure whether the voices were addressing her, they were so distant, or her mind was too distant, that she couldn’t make sense of them. Neither did she want to. She had learned the hard way, across the years of war, that people belittling Vader’s magnitude rarely ever had anything to add to the picture.

After a while, the incessant but very distant voices became silence and turned into steps. Leia wondered if they had already found her and given up on trying to communicate with her, or if they were about to find and the talking would continue to evade her ears. She didn’t care. She could only care about the shattered picture of herself and her parents.

* * *

When Padmé and Ameera turned left and came to find Leia there, Padmé’s soul left her body.

It wasn’t just the prospect that Leia had been standing next to C-3PO, or that Leia’s soul had apparently also left her body; it was the poor comment that Padmé had just made, in the spur of the moment, and the fact that she ran into the addressee of her comment immediately after.

She grabbed Ameera’s arm desperately, and her eyes were devoid of life as she asked, “Ameera, did she hear me? Oh my stars, did she hear me?!”

Ameera was equally at loss, and her lips opened and closed several times before she managed to blurt, “I—I have no idea.”

Cursing under her breath, Padmé snapped out of her trance and rushed towards Leia. They were barely a few feet apart, yet it seemed like an interstellar journey until she was standing in front of the princess, her hands lurking in the air — just like Leia’s — but never once touching.

“Leia…?”

Padmé stood there with her heart in her throat, barely able to breathe at the notion that she had just ruined everything.

_ Oh no, what had she done? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oop, a little cliffhanger. realized that there hadn't been exactly any cliffhangers in this story so far so I thought this was a good place to end the chapter. and yes, more tension, ops. sorry, I need there to be tension between everybody for the (spoiler alert) introduction of a character that y'all have been asking for. please bear with me!!
> 
> and if you few like leaving a nice or some constructive criticism, please do *-* i strongly rely on your support, and y'all make my day when you comment on this story.


	26. Twenty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd like to take a special moment to thank all of you who made me feel so warm and special with your comments in the last comment. your support means everything to me, and I'm so thankful for you.

“ _ Leia _ ?”

Leia knew that voice, didn’t she? She was sure she did; that voice was comforting, it brought her unusual feelings of belonging and being home — just like that broken picture once had.

Yet, she could not move. She wasn’t ready to remove her eyes from those tiny shards of glass shattered across the ground; she wasn’t ready to  _ let go _ .

So, she just stood there, her hands being pulled down by the heaviness of gravity until they were falling to her sides, tightly closed in fists of anxiety.

“Leia…?” Padmé tried again, feeling a funny texture under the sole of her shoes but not bothering herself enough to investigate. She was far more busy and worried about the human being standing in front of her, and the comment she had just made in a moment of poor judgment powerful enough to destroy entire relationships.

When there was no response, Padmé exchanged a worrisome look with Ameera; the Twi’lek’s expression was equally tense.

Padmé forced herself to  _ breathe _ . All wasn’t lost, she refused to believe otherwise. 

“Leia, I’m — I’m so so sorry,” she babbled, her eyes glowing with unshed tears. “I — I didn’t mean it. Leia,  _ crap,  _ that wasn’t true at all. Please forgive me,  _ please  _ forgive me. It was a joke, a stupid joke that shouldn’t have been made at all. I’m so sorry—”

Leia’s lip fell slightly open, and the lower one started to almost unnoticeably tremble. It appeared that she was trying to say something, and Padmé couldn’t control her nerves until she finally did.

“What…?”

The princess’ voice had been so low and unsteady that it was barely hearable. Padmé herself wasn’t sure she had understood  _ exactly  _ what had been said. Therefore, Padmé was left with no other choice than to keep trying to make amends for what she had done. 

“Leia, I — this is so messed up, I’m so sorry, Leia. I don’t think of you like that,  _ at all _ . We were just… joking! And I recognize how insensitive my comment was, I’m — I’m so sorry, Leia.”

“Hey, what’s going on here?”

Both Ameera and Padmé jumped in surprise at the sound of the third voice — third, because Leia was barely present there. Luke Skywalker had popped out of nowhere _ ,  _ and he couldn’t have worse timing.

“Hey, I see you’ve found Threepio!” Luke exclaimed, shooting the golden droid his brightest smile, only then realizing the circumstances and that  _ Leia  _ was there as well. “Oh no.”

He wouldn’t  _ dare  _ to send the droid on another goose chase, though.

“Luke,  _ please _ ,” Padmé exclaimed, nearly blocking him out of her field of vision. “Will you get Threepio out of here?”

Luke grunted what was supposed to be a  _ yes,  _ but was far too preoccupied with his sister there, frozen and out of synch with the rest of the world.

“Hm, Leia?” he approached her with caution, “Can you hear me?”

Leia let out a long breath, as if that was supposed to be enough of an answer.

A little bit angrily, he turned towards Padmé and Ameera, “What the heck happened?! Is this because of Threepio?!”

“I, uh,” Padmé stuttered, making a face; she wasn’t  _ sure  _ she wanted Luke to know what she had done. Selfishly, she didn’t want to get on his bad graces  _ either _ . “Just go, okay? Take Threepio out of here, it’ll be for the best.”

Out of concern for his sister, Luke did order the droid to go down to the Hangar, where the Falcon was stationed — so Han would deal with him, probably by turning him off or smacking him in the metal head — and without any awareness of the dangers that would follow, C-3PO obeyed without any arguments. Then, he turned to the Twi’lek who  _ clearly  _ wished she was anywhere but there. “Ameera?”

Ameera simply threw both her hands up, “I’m not getting involved.”

“You’re not getting involved—” he said in a mocking, partly offended voice. So he went to the heart of the matter and nearly pushed Padmé out of the way. “Leia, are you having another mental breakdown?”

Maybe it had been his poor choice of words, maybe it had been the stupidity of his question — but, at least, it had been enough to attract Leia’s attention and get her back from wherever she had gone. And when Luke saw her blank expression and her hollow expression looking straight at him, he ruled out the possibility of another episode.

To his relief.

“Okay, good. You’re not, ern, having another…  _ that _ ,” normally, he would have received at least a couple of eye rolls from her by then. Leia simply stared at him, barely blinking. “Are you, ern, doing okay there, sis?”

Her gaze fell back to the ground, and she didn’t even notice the word of endearment that he had  _ never  _ said to her before. 

“I broke it.”

Once again, her voice was so small they could barely make out her words.

And it was Padmé’s turn to shove her son out of the way. “Leia, you’re not  _ broken _ . If you’re thinking that because of what I said — that’s  _ wrong,  _ Leia. That isn’t true! What I said was way out of line, and I only said because I didn’t think you would be listening. And I realize the fault in that, because I should always measure my words no matter the circumstances, and I’ll do better. I’ll  _ be  _ better, I promise, Leia, I promise—”

Luke stared at his mother wide-eyed. “What did you say?!”

“None of your business, Luke.”

The harshness of Padmé’s words and the tone they had been delivered shook Luke so badly that he took one step back — and then, one closer to Leia. She had never been so brutal with him, and he did not think everything was well so she would snap at him like that.

“Ern, if you caused Leia to be — like  _ this,  _ it is my damn business. This is my  _ sister _ , and I don’t take lightly people who do harm her, intentionally or  _ not _ .”

In despair, Padmé pressed both her hands to her face so  _ she  _ wouldn’t have her own breakdown. 

“Luke, you’re just — you’re making it all worse.”

Luke rolled his eyes, and gently placed his fingers on Leia’s upper arm. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Leia whispered, her eyes bright from the reflection of broken glass on them. “It’s done. There’s no undoing it.”

Enraged, Luke shot Padmé eyes of death, like he was ready to channel his Jedi and take action if he didn’t start getting some answers soon. “Padmé. What did you do?”

“Luke,  _ please _ ,” Padmé begged, rubbing her fingers tiredly against the corner of her eyes.

“Ameera?”

“I said I wasn’t getting involved,” Ameera repeated, farther away from the three away than the last time Luke glanced at her.

By now, he was holding Leia’s arm tighter than he should, and she was too out of her body to sense it. She only stared at the shattered picture. Maybe, if she looked at it for long enough, her parents would come back to rescue her again.

“Mother, I swear—”

“I made an indelicate joke, that’s all!” Padmé shouted, at last, attempting to take a step closer to them but remaining put when she saw the look that Luke gave her. “It was — stupid, it was  _ wrong,  _ she wasn’t supposed to have heard it!”

“But she  _ did,  _ and it  _ hurt  _ her,” Luke angrily emphasized. “What the hell did you say?”

“I’m sorry, okay! It was a lack of better judgment, and I messed up, but nothing I said is  _ true. _ ”

Luke wasn’t sure of how much longer he would last without losing his patience. “ _ Padmé _ . I swear—”

“I joked that Leia would make a great Lady Vader!”

“You what?!”

Leia at last was looking up again, her voice steady but so out of life. Betrayal was written all over her face and her eyes were dark; hollow. Her heart plumbed erratically inside her chest, and she pressed her lips hardly together when she noticed her lower lip had started trembling.

Without realizing it, Leia had leaned closer to Luke, unconsciously begging him to take  _ her  _ side.

Padmé’s face fell. “You… You hadn’t heard it?”

Leia felt the blood draining from her face; she thought she was becoming dizzy. This was her worst nightmare coming true — and she had  _ too  _ many nightmares — this was every refutation that she wasn’t Anakin disappearing into thin air, like they had never meant anything at all. 

“No. I hadn’t.”

Well —  _ fuck.  _ Padmé had been so desperate that she ended up doing more harm than good. She doubted  _ this  _ could be undone.

Clearly decided that he would deal with Padmé later, Luke shifted so he would be blocking Padmé out of Leia’s view. He gently placed his hands over her shoulder. “If you hadn’t heard it, Leia, then what happened? You’re acting — all weird.”

Upon being reminded of her misfortunes, Leia’s gaze fell to the ground once more. Everything was starting to weigh on her and her eyes were heavy;  _ she wouldn’t cry,  _ she promised herself. She couldn’t cry; she had to be strong. For her family, for the parents she had lost for the second time. They would have never doubted her, they would have never accused her of being  _ him _ .

Because she was  _ their  _ daughter, not his. She inherited their excellence, not his evilness.

She was hypnotized by the glass dust. Just like she had been after Alderaan’s destruction, watching the debris of her homeworld from behind a spaceport, wishing more than nothing to touch it.

“I broke it.”

Unsure of what she was talking about, Luke followed the path of her eyes and found the little device that once gave life to a holograph picture. Letting go of his sister for the moment, he kneeled to retrieve it, and Leia looked away; maybe erasing it from her vision field would be enough to cut her attraction to that broken picture, and yet, she instantly missed the force of its allure. She swallowed her emotions inside and refused to look at her brother as he made his way back up.

Careful not to cut himself on the scattered shards, Luke picked up the hologram mechanism that would once give life to a flat picture. He stared at it with curiosity, wondering what it was about this random holo picture that would bring out this reaction from his sister.

“Leia?”

“It was a picture,” she said in a small voice, certain that all three sets of eyes were focused on her. She took so long to say anything else that Luke doubted she would complement it. “Of my parents.”

His face became written with sorrow; Leia had told him, a few weeks before, that she didn’t have a single heirloom of her home —  _ not even a private picture  _ — and it must have taken all of her courage to go back to her father’s office to find a physical object to comfort her, only to lose it again.

Like she had lost everything else.

“Do you think you can fix it?”

Padmé’s voice was so loud it nearly deafened them — well, that or they had been speaking so lowly and only to each other that the intrusion shook them to the core. And her voice had been the perfect reminder of what she had  _ done,  _ because Luke’s face shifted from sorrow to anger, again.

He didn’t answer her.

“Luke.”

His mother’s call only brought him more annoyance, and he chose to replace it with patience by twirling the holoprojector in his hands to properly assess the damage.

“I’ll try to fix it, okay, Leia?” he stole a quick glance of her; she was still looking away. “I  _ will  _ fix it.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Leia condemned, a little stronger and angrier than anything she might have said before, but Luke understood she wasn’t mad at him. Only at herself for having broken it and maybe a little at Padmé. 

Grabbing the holoprojector and tucking it safely into his pocket, he placed his hand at the small of Leia’s back and started guiding her away. Her legs followed, but Luke assumed it was more of an automatic response than a conscious one.

And as expected, but not very much appreciated, Padmé rushed after them — after  _ Leia.  _ Upon the notion, Luke pulled his sister a little closer to him and wrapped one of his arms around her, showing that she  _ wasn’t  _ available. Alas, the message wasn’t well delivered.

“Leia,  _ please. _ ”

Leia briefly closed her eyes, trusting her brother to guide her if needed. She hadn’t expected it would be so hard to open them again while holding all her emotions inside. She gave herself a moment to steady her breathing.

“Where is Ameera?”

“I’m right here,” a voice from a little behind them came, and Leia wanted to laugh at how  _ obviously  _ Ameera wished she was anywhere but there. That made two of them. 

“Ameera had nothing to do with it,” Padmé said,  _ promised.  _ Whatever had happened earlier that day, Padmé was certain that the princess and the Twi’lek had somehow —  _ bonded,  _ and she would do anything to preserve that friendship. Leia didn’t have that many female figures in her life, and Padmé did believe her daughter should have a  _ girl  _ to bond with, a girl that wasn’t her mentor and superior — like Mon Mothma — nor an intruder — like Padmé herself. “In fact, she was pretty wary of my remarks as well.”

_ God,  _ Leia was so tired. She wished everyone would just shut up and they would all enjoy the most awkward walk to the hangar. And yet, she couldn’t help herself but snap—

“I’m glad to know that you’re so honorable to her.”

Padmé grimaced immediately, but understood she deserved it very much. The accusation hurt like a stab through her heart, that her daughter would think she would pledge further alliance with a friend than with the one that came from her blood. Padmé would never betray Leia, she would always take her side, but — the last minutes hadn’t been her prime time.

Behind them, Ameera turned three shades paler. 

“Leia, I—” Padmé stuttered, trying to find the right words — if they  _ existed.  _ “Look, I am trying to be honorable to you too. Not because—because of some stupid comment that I made that you overheard and that I need to repair myself to you. No, Leia, all I want to is to protect you and cherish you and admire the wonderful woman that you’ve become. Not the hypothetical person that I made up for the sake of a joke.”

Leia sighed deeply; she was thankful for Luke next to her, so desperately trying to defend her, even in his silence. He was the only thing keeping her  _ sane. _

“You weren’t there to protect me before…”

What she was truly saying — Padmé hadn’t been there to protect her from Vader before, so she couldn’t blame Leia if what she faced under his hands led her to become Vader herself. 

“I know,” she agreed sadly, an unreasonable guilty taking over her. It wasn’t exactly  _ fair  _ that Leia would accuse her of not protecting her when she didn’t even know of her existence, but still — it  _ stung.  _ Because Padmé had been left to deal with the carnage of what her failure to protect her had brought, and she had only ever met Leia in sorrow; Padmé was sick of all the pain that  _ he  _ kept bringing them even from beyond the grave. “But I do want to be here for you now. I  _ am  _ here, Leia.”

“Fine,” Leia grunted, at last freeing herself from her brother’s hold. “You didn’t mean it. It’s in the past, whatever. We can move on.”

She fastened her pacing, wanting nothing more than a little space from them, from all of them. Likewise, Padmé sped up to reach her, but the dirty look that Luke offered her was enough to slow her down again. Self-consciously, she wrapped her arms around herself and forced herself to be silent for the rest of the journey.

* * *

All things considered, Han Solo was bored the hell out of his mind. 

He had lost count of time by now. All he knew was that it had passed a  _ long  _ time.

He should have known better; he had known Leia for so long now,  _ of course  _ a simple run back to her office or wherever to retrieve a simple thing wouldn’t take her  _ just  _ a few minutes. Leia was a workaholic, and she had the bad habit of burying herself in her work whenever she was sad and hurting.

He shouldn’t have agreed to let her go back on her own; there was nothing  _ too personal  _ that he couldn’t wait outside the room and give the door a few knocks once she had been there inside for too long. 

Now, he had no choice but to wait  _ forever  _ until she decided to come back. And all he wanted was to take her home and kiss her forehead and hold her tight until she understood she was safe. 

_ He just wanted her to feel safe again.  _

Well, the concept of safety was difficult to grasp when they were inserted in the heart of  _ war _ . They had never been safe, not ever since they had given their lives for the cause. Still, it didn’t use to be so  _ bad _ , or, at least, he didn’t remember it to be. Maybe it had always been, she had just done too great a job of concealing it. Maybe the ending of the war had finally allowed her to feel everything that she so desperately tried to disguise.

He sighed, trying to come up with ways to help her and failing miserably.

In the end, he could do no more than to be there for her.

He wasn’t so sure for how long that would be enough to keep her steady.

Leaning back on his pilot chair, his legs stretched out over the console. He placed his hands behind his head, looking idly out of the spaceport but not having too much hope that Leia would magically appear any time soon.

What he didn’t expect, however, was for a shiny little droid to start crazily wandering across the hangar, looking as desperate as his programming allowed him to be.

“You’ve got be kidding—”

Han growled so many different sounds that he could be easily mistaken for a  _ Wookie _ ; knowing their luck, Leia was bound to walk in at the exact time to find C-3PO’s shiny eyes staring at her. He tripped out of his chair and rushed out faster than lightspeed.

He had his finger up in the air and his lips ready to give the droid a lot of unnecessary yelling, but C-3PO beat him to it.

“Captain Solo! Thank the Master I’ve found you.”

Han stood face to face with the protocol droid. “Listen here, Threepio—”

“Captain Solo, it is terrible out there,” he urged, in his monotonous voice.

Out of patience already, Han crossed his arms. “Whatever are you talking about?”

“All the fighting and yelling, sir!” C-3PO advertised, “What a relief is to be in your peaceful presence, Captain Solo.”

By the time C-3PO finished talking, Han was looking at him with his eyebrows arched — what about Han that had  _ ever  _ prompted that he was kind and peaceful with Threepio? Had the droid gone insane and started confusing him with  _ Luke _ ?

He could only repeat in cruder words, “What the heck you’re talking about? Who’s fighting?”

“Oh, sir, it seems that everybody is fighting,” C-3PO replied earnestly, “You and I are the only ones left sane.”

Han solo rolled his eyes. “ _ Names _ , Threepio.”

“Well,” he paused briefly, “Princess Leia and Master Luke and Mistress Padmé, sir.”

Han tilted his head sideways; whatever would they have to fight about anyway? Then, he looked at the droid and his eyes startled at the realization that Leia must have come across C-3PO —  _ damnit  _ — and the situation had spiraled down from there.

“Fuck.”

“My sentiments exactly, sir.”

There was a two seconds delay until he kicked into action. Out of reflex, he placed his hand over his blaster, even without the sight of danger, and began to run back into the Senate, only to turn around back to Threepio.

“Go to the Falcon,” he knew this command would come back to haunt him, once he managed to get Leia — and the others — back to the ship, but he chose to deal with it later. “Lock yourself in the cockpit and don’t come out. Don’t let anyone in, either. You understand?”

“Of course, Captain Solo.”

“Anyone other than me, of course,” he judged it important to point that out — with C-3PO, one could never be too safe. “Or Leia and Luke, obviously,” he remembered, and remembered again, “Oh, and Padmé and… and… And the blue tall crazy Twi’lek girl whose name I don’t know. But that’s  _ it.  _ Got it, goldenrod?”

“Yes, Captain Solo.”

This time, he allowed himself to go, taking several huge steps back towards the Senate, desperate to find Leia. And he stopped again, realizing he had  _ no  _ idea where exactly they were, and it was likely they were heading this way, either way. So he stopped for good, his hands on his hips, decided to stand there until Leia came back to him — and if anyone else came in his way so he could yell at them for being  _ stupid  _ and not listening to Leia when she told them she didn’t want anything to do with C-3PO _ ,  _ it would be merely a consequence.

* * *

It seemed like entire eternities had passed while Han stood there — and just stood there — until  _ they  _ entered the hangar.

They — Luke and Leia walking side by side, Leia with her arms crossed against her chest, her head looking down, and Luke with his arm around her waist, like he was carrying the entire weight of her existence; not so far behind there was Padmé, rushing after the twins, then unexpectedly slowing her pacing, only to do it again; and even further behind was Ameera, clearly trying to keep her distance.

Han fought the urge to run to them — to  _ her  _ — instead staying put until they came to him. The eternities that he had stayed there waiting allowed him plenty of time to think, and he didn’t want to barge in there and start making accusations of things he didn’t know about and possibly end up suffocating Leia in the process.

He didn’t want to make things worse for  _ her  _ — she was always the most precious thing in his mind. If it weren’t for her presence there, he would gladly jump the gun and start accusing everyone of hurting her.

As they came closer, Han had a better chance to study their body language. Luke was tense, and he looked like he was ready to stab someone with a lightsaber — good for him — meanwhile, Leia looked absent; her mind clearly wasn’t there, and he thought her eyes were sparkling a little more than usual. He noticed that she didn’t have anything on her? Whatever happened to that very important thing she needed to fetch? What the  _ heck  _ had happened?

Inevitably, the first words to escape his lips when the twins finally stood barely a few feet away from him were, “Are you hurt?”

Leia threw her head back in half a jump at the suddenness — sharpness? — of his voice, and she just realized they had already arrived. She had no recollection of how she had gotten from  _ there  _ to  _ here _ ; her brain was completely foggy.

“She isn’t,” Luke spoke on her behalf when it took her too many seconds to provide an answer and he could almost hear Han’s anxious heartbeat jumping out of his chest if he didn’t get some reassurance.

Luke chewed on his inner cheeks; well,  _ physically,  _ she was alright. Emotionally — he had no way of knowing. Not anymore. Of course, Leia had always been great at shielding her mind from him, but she had never had any training in the ways of the Force so he had always been able to tell at least the general mood she was in. Whether she was happy and thriving or was she so sad that she struggled to do the simplest of tasks.

Not anymore. He was empty, and he had no idea what was going through her mind.

Han eyed him warily, demanding some sort of explanation from him once Leia was safely inside the Falcon. He took Luke’s place and gently snuggled her close to him, immediately noticing the tension of her muscles. Holding her steady, he led the way.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get out of here.”

What he hadn’t expected  _ at all,  _ though, was to have three other people following him up to his ship — when they had come on a different ship. Although he dreaded that all these people would only make Leia feel more quashed, he decided not to say anything about it. He really,  _ really  _ just wanted to take Leia home, far away from this place.

“Kid, go start up the engines,” once inside, Han bossed Luke around, knowing Luke would be too happy to  _ finally  _ get a chance to pilot the Falcon to argue. Han could only frown at him when his expression didn’t lighten up, but he followed the command nonetheless.

Deciding he would worry about that later, Han turned back to Leia and placed both his hands over her shoulders. He waited for her to meet his eyes, and it nearly took her forever.

“Promise you won’t go into the cockpit, and you won’t ask me questions.”

In return, Leia could only stare at him blankly. “ _ What _ .”

He felt the ship trembling under his feet, and he knew he had to go help Luke before Luke decided to break something. Only  _ he  _ was allowed to break the Falcon.

“Do you trust me?”

She gave him a face, “No…?”

“Leia,” he sighed, giving her shoulders a tight squeeze. “Please trust me.”

Seeing the honesty in his eyes, Leia conceded. “Okay. Okay, I won’t.”

Nodding, he gave her forehead a warm kiss and offered her some words of comfort before walking away with a clear, but troubled, conscience.

Padmé had blended herself into the background, meanwhile Ameera had watched the scene unfolding intensely.

“What was that all about?”

Leia let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She knew  _ exactly  _ what Han was trying to shield her from, but she refused to give voice to it, otherwise, it would become  _ true,  _ and that was the last thing she needed at that moment. She was already too overwhelmed with the picture of her real parents that she had lost, the last thing she needed was a living golden reminder that she didn’t come from  _ them _ .

Instead of answering, Leia indecorously dropped herself to the seating around the gaming table. And when she noticed Padmé’s obvious stare on her, she started her countdown. Three, two, one—

“Leia, can we talk?”

Although Leia  _ had  _ been waiting for the question, it didn’t make her any less annoyed and she slammed her fist against the table. The suddenness of the sound made Ameera jump, and Leia regretted it.

“No, we  _ cannot _ .”

Ashamed, Padmé nodded. She understood very well that Leia owed nothing to her; still, it wasn’t on her nature just to give up. So she took the seat next to Leia without invitation and pretended not to notice how the young girl shivered upon her arrival.

“We have to talk about it, Leia,” Padmé threaded carefully, “What happened… What I said—”

“It’s in the past,” Leia replied impatiently. She just wanted to get to the base already and hide herself in the sick excuse of her  _ home  _ there without coming out for the next three business days.

She wouldn’t, of course, but she liked to believe that she could.

“It’s not that simple,” Padmé stated the obvious, “What happened… We can’t compress our feelings about it. We need to lash out.”

Padmé had yet to decide whether her choice of including herself in the narrative, rather than simply saying  _ Leia  _ needed to lash out, was a good or bad idea. Was it better to sound selfish or accusingly? She hoped she had made the right decision.

“Sith, what is it with you and Luke and your desperate need to talk everything through?” Leia angrily snapped, and Padmé unconsciously sat back at the animosity of her tone. “Why can’t you just leave me in peace?!”

Padmé swallowed roughly, anxiously pulling her hands back to her lap. “Because I… I  _ do  _ love you, Leia—”

Concluding that that had been the final draw, Leia groaned as she rose to her feet and started to walk away.

“I’m going to Han’s private bunk. I’ll thank you not to follow me.”

Although the semantics indicated no more than a request, Leia’s voice was very clear on her threat. Padmé wouldn’t be crazy to follow her as she unfortunately realized she was only doing more harm than good.

In her despair, she leaned her head against the wall, painfully and loudly grunting as she closed her eyes.

“What the hell was that?”

Padmé nearly had a heart attack at the sound of Ameera’s voice next to her. She hadn’t heard the Twi’lek approaching, she hadn’t felt the Twi’lek moving next to her, so when she opened her eyes to find a very tall and wide-eyed figure staring straight into her soul, she judged it okay to feel a little cornered.

Ameera crossed her arms. “Why are you ambushing her like this?”

“I—” Padmé gasped at the bluntness of her question. She wouldn’t expect Ameera to filter — no, that was way out of her character — but the plainness of it all made Padmé feel under attack. “What—I’m  _ not.  _ I’m not, Ameera. I’m just trying to have a conversation.”

Making herself at home, Ameera spread her legs over the table. “The poor girl had a panic attack earlier today and yet here you are trying to  _ trap  _ her again.”

“I… That’s not fair, Ameera.”

“Isn’t it?” the Twi’lek squinted. “Look, you… You’ve got those same pitiful eyes whenever something goes wrong with Leia, and here I thought we had gotten past those, and you’re showing them to  _ Leia  _ herself, as if she owes you something…! Granted, I understand that you and Leia were  _ good  _ earlier today, you were interacting and genuinely bonding when we got to the Senate, even after the —  _ the incident,  _ and I realize how  _ awful  _ it must feel to be back to stake one and Leia won’t even look at your face. But you—you’re trapping her, and  _ that  _ isn’t fair.”

Padmé made herself very small. Honestly, she didn’t think Ameera would pay so close attention to her and her behavior across the months, and she felt vulnerable under her words.

She felt vulnerable because she knew she had  _ messed up,  _ and she wasn’t so certain there would be any fixing up her mistakes this time. 

“I’m going to go check on Leia,” Padmé decided, all but forgotten of the princess’ last words to her. And she was going to, she had half risen from her seat when tough fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled her back.

“No, you’re not,” Ameera threatened, and only let go of Padmé once Padmé gave her word that she wouldn’t try to sneak out again. Ameera sighed, returning to her line of thinking, “You have to breathe. Princess Leia doesn’t strike me as the sort of person to hold grudges over the stupidest things.”

Padmé gave her a sideways look, “Come on, Ameera, that’s exactly what Leia’s done ever since I came into the picture. I’m  _ not  _ her enemy, but somehow she still treats me as such.”

“No,” Ameera cordially shook her head. “That’s far from the truth. Leia never held a grudge over you, she’s just… She’s scared of you. If she treats you like her enemy, then it’s because she’s been through so much pain that she’s terrified to let you in only so you’ll let her down, as everybody else did.”

Padmé essentially stopped breathing.

“Which, well… You did.”

And then, her breath was stolen from her.

The retired monarch turned her head to look at Ameera with glossy eyes. “What did she tell you?”

In response, Ameera stared straight ahead. “What? I haven’t had any moment alone with her ever since the… The things you said.”

“No, I mean—” Padmé forced herself to take a deep breath, “Earlier today, after Leia stormed out from her own office. She came back with you, and she seemed to strongly rely on you. Something happened between the two of you and… I guess I’m asking you, did Leia open up to you? Did she?”

“Come on, Padmé,” Ameera clicked her tongue. “Even if she did, I wouldn’t pass on what she hypothetically told me.”

Without any mannerism, Padmé buried her face in both her hands. “I… I don’t understand! You have met her  _ today,  _ she’s never engaged in a conversation with you before! And somehow she still manages to open up to you about matters of her heart and mind while constantly shutting me out of her life, when I’ve spent the last two months just trying to  _ be  _ there for her? What the hell am I doing wrong?”

“Padmé, you’re reading too much into it,” Ameera warned her. “Leia was hurting, and you _ know  _ that I won’t ever walk out on people who need help. At that moment, Leia needed help, she needed solace, and I did everything I could to help her ease her sorrows. It doesn’t mean that  _ she opened up to me  _ just like that. Mostly, she listened. But the most important thing about this all, Padmé, is that it isn’t a competition. I know you’re aware of how little women there are spread around in the rebellion, and the few of us need to pledge alliances, not turn on each other.”

“I’m not—I’m not turning on you, Ameera,” Padmé was offended that she would think so. “I’m just… I’m  _ jealous  _ of you. In one day, you’ve managed to help Leia more than my entire stay here. And all I want is to help her.”

Ameera’s chest was gently rising and gently falling; she found the coziness of the Millennium Falcon peaceful, and she could easily stay there forever. “I  _ think,  _ Padmé, that you’re trying too hard. You’re too uptight, and you push her too much in your attempts to get into her good graces. Until she comes to terms with everything that has happened to her, until she realizes that she can be  _ loved  _ again, she won’t be able to truly let you in. She’s afraid of being betrayed, that her trust will be betrayed, she’s afraid of being let down. Be patient, Padmé. You owe her that much.”

Feeling very small, Padmé pulled her legs to the bench and hugged them tightly. “She was right to be afraid.”

Ameera crossed her arms, a frown taking over her face. “Yeah. She was.”

“I mean,” Padmé tried to sound as strong as she could; she didn’t get to be pitiful about it. “I betrayed her today. I let her down in the worst way a mother could betray her children.”

Ameera looked at her funnily, and once again felt obliged to remind her, “You’re not her mother.”

“Yeah, but…” she swallowed roughly, the first specks of tears starting to emerge, “Today I was. Today, for the first time, when Leia finally came to us for help, I got to be. And just like that, I failed her. God, I failed her…!”

Ameera was lost for words as she watched the first tears ran down Padmé’s cheeks, that soon turned into a soft cry, and then became sobs, as Padmé bawled into her hands. Ameera was startled; the entire time she had known the female human for, Padmé was mostly a very well composed being. Sure, she whined a lot; sure, she rambled even more, but never — never like this. She had never seen Padmé break down.

So, she faced back ahead. Truth be told — Ameera was  _ terrified _ ; the moment that she had once so desperately tried to shield herself from had finally come. She was friends with Padmé, but she had also bonded with Leia in a way that she couldn’t explain, and now Padmé had done Leia wrong, and Ameera would have to choose a side. This was why she should have stayed alone in the first place…! She shouldn’t have tried to find herself another family, because families — families weren’t meant for her. She was destined to be alone, forever alone.

Then why was the simple prospect of being alone hurting her this badly?

“Leia… Leia hates me,” Padmé said, and Ameera wasn’t estranged to those words. Those exact words had been Padmé’s first description of the princess, merely hours after learning about their kinship. However, two months ago Padmé had said it with dread; now, her words had become dark. “I don’t know. She should. She has every right to hate me.”

“Well… Can you blame her, Padmé?”

Padmé had thought she had managed to control her emotions, only to have her tears escape her eyes at full rate again. Then, a hollow laugh.

“I take it that you’re mad at me as well.”

In response, Ameera could only offer her silence.

“Ameera—”

“Okay, fine. I guess I am,” she replied harshly — leave it to Padmé to realize how Ameera was feeling before even Ameera did. And the worst — she couldn’t even tell exactly  _ why  _ she was so infuriated when it wasn’t her place to be. “You knew that I wasn’t comfortable with those comments. I explicitly told you how mean those remarks were.”

Padmé intently watched Ameera’s side profile flinch. “Those — They were just  _ jokes _ .”

“No,” she dragged her head from side to side. “Jokes are meant to be funny. That… That was  _ cruel,  _ Padmé. Vile.”

“I — I never meant to hurt anyone.”

“You’re a very intelligent woman. Your intentions barely matter when you  _ knew  _ your remarks would hurt her like hell.”

Padmé swallowed hard. “You say that like I’d  _ ever  _ willingly want to hurt either of my children.”

“Willingly or not, you  _ hurt  _ Leia, and she’s already suffering enough. Like, what’s the point of being so kind to her and demanding us not to make funny remarks about Vader to her face when you’re just gonna stab her in the back?” Ameera harshly accused. “You said Leia would be a great Lady Vader and two seconds later you were coddling Luke, saying he’s an angel who would never turn into Vader when  _ he’s  _ the only one who practices use of the Force and has any chance of turning dark. It’s — It’s like you have a favorite child. Sith forbids Luke turns dark, but if Leia does, you’ll just be,  _ oh, that’s sad but yeah, I had seen it coming _ .”

“Ameera,” Padmé never judged it so hard to breathe. “That’s not true. I love them  _ equally,  _ I swear I do…!”

Ameera had her lips tightly compressed and she looked ahead, blinking fast. She didn’t feel so good with the situation that Padmé had put them in, and she no longer could look her friend in the eye.

“Ameera—” Padmé cried her name, her lips trembling. She wouldn’t be able to handle another person she loved walking away from her. “Please don’t leave me. I’m already losing Leia, and Luke… I can’t lose you too.”

Ameera chewed on her inner cheeks and brought her legs down. She no longer felt comfortable being there. Still, she tried, “Come on. You didn’t lose Luke.”

“Of course I did!” Padmé wailed desperately. “There isn’t a person that Luke loves more than his sister, not even me! You saw how hostile he became, what I said is just a betrayal to him as it is to Leia.”

Ameera conceded, understanding the sentiment very well. 

“Look, I…” the Twi’lek stuttered. “I won’t turn on you, or leave you. You were being stupid and you made a mistake. But I… I like Princess Leia, Padmé. I genuinely do, and I don’t think it was right for you to be saying those things barely hours after she said, to your face, how much she  _ hates  _ Vader. And you were turning her into Vader herself without any cause! I need a moment, okay? I need a moment, because I — I’ve done bad stuff in my life. Of course I have, I fought in a war, but if anyone  _ ever  _ compared me to the monster who enslaved me, I would be devastated. I’ll be back, I promise, but can I just have a moment to  _ breathe _ ?"

Padmé tried to soothe her facial expressions, to no avail. Sadly, she had no choice but to agree and  _ pray  _ that Ameera would honor her word of coming back. 

Not today. Not tomorrow, but not never, either.

* * *

If Ameera were asked what had been her reasons to suddenly find herself  _ there _ , she wouldn’t be able to find an answer. She couldn’t explain that unexpected urge, neither did she know what she herself would gain from it. But she was there now, and she wouldn’t turn around. 

The door to Han Solo’s private chamber in the Millennium Falcon hissed open, and she felt slightly guilty when she realized she had forgotten to knock. Too late now; she had no alternative than to raise her head and unapologetic walk in.

But when she took a step into the poorly illuminated room and saw the small figure of a human being curled up in bed, she realized — what was the point?

Leia was lying on her side, facing what Ameera assumed was Han’s side of the bed. She hugged the second pillow tightly, with an intensity that she wouldn’t normally embrace another human being, and her legs were pulled up near her chest. The skirt of her dress was a mess, tangled and wrinkled around her legs, unlike anything a royal figure would present to the public. Despite her calm appearance, her body was rigid and tense and she had her eyes wide open, drifting into the background yet alerted to her entire surroundings. 

Princess Leia wasn’t naïve; even though she was looking sideways, she was well aware of Ameera’s presence there. For some reason that she could not comprehend, Ameera’s presence didn’t bother her. 

Ameera was expecting a reprimand, or some sort of impolite request to leave Leia alone, but none of those came. Taking a deep breath, Ameera closed the door and cautiously lied down next to the princess, choosing to face the ceiling rather than the petite human. She wasn’t looking for any conversation, or facial validation; she just wanted to lie there.

Likewise, Leia didn’t bring herself to look at her new friend, even though the Twi’lek lied directly in front of her line of sight. She chose to focus on the linen of the bedding instead, even — especially — when she, at last, let go of the pillow she was hugging and gently pushed it towards Ameera, so she wouldn’t lie directly over the flat mattress.

Ameera was slightly taken aback at the sudden object being shoved into her, considering she had already allowed her mind to start drifting away, and even more so when she dared to look down and noticed that Leia was handing her the spare pillow. Ameera frowned, ready to refute when she saw Leia’s attempt at a smile, and awkwardly accepted it. Bringing it under her head, she watched as the princess pulled her arms close to her, clasping her hands together as if to give herself something to hold.

This time, it was harder to look away again. Ameera did it anyway.

“I miss my parents.”

The comment came so out of the blue that it astonished Ameera herself. She had no idea where it had originated, or  _ why  _ she had enunciated it aloud. It was an odd feeling because she so rarely thought of her parents. They had died when she was just a teenager, and she had many more memories of Duaa looking after her than of her parents. But the sentiment was sincere —  _ she missed them dearly.  _ Almost on the same scale as she missed her sister.

“I miss my parents too.”

Leia’s voice was hoarse, like she was desperately trying to hold back her cry and not doing a very job.  _ She missed her parents,  _ and she felt like a child for being so dependent on the memory of her parents alive. She longed for them, for their presence next to her again; yet, the more she thought about them, the more she hurt.

She just wanted to tell them goodbye. Was that too much to ask?

She just wanted some closure. 

Ameera smiled sadly. There it was, yet another common tragedy between her and the princess. She wished things were different. She would have liked to gain Leia’s friendship under other circumstances.

“It’s funny, I don’t think of my parents that often,” Ameera confessed, unsure of where she was going with that. “I wasn’t that close to them as a child, because I was always enchanted with Duaa’s magnitude, so most of my early memories are of her, not of them. But I remember that they loved me. They loved me  _ so much.  _ Right now, for reasons I can’t comprehend, I miss them profoundly. I didn’t know I still missed them this much.”

Leia breathed in a hollow breath. 

“I wish my mother was still here,” Leia confessed, not under some obligation that she needed to repay a truth of the heart with another, but because she understood there was no judging there; only vulnerability. And she was already vulnerable enough. “She was —  _ is  _ — the wisest, strongest woman I know. There wasn’t a problem that she didn’t know how to fix. So… She would have been able to fix me. If she were still here.”

Ameera didn’t move. She wanted to say that things weren’t so simple, that Leia was merely idealizing the woman she had once idolized, that nobody was  _ that  _ perfect. But she didn’t have to.

The princess already knew.

She just wished either way; there was no harm in wishing.

“You should be with Padmé.”

Ameera’s heart skipped a beat at the proclamation. Considering everything that had happened, she couldn’t assess what felt worse — Leia so out of the element telling her that she should be with the one person that had brought them all immeasurable trouble, or the fact that Ameera didn’t  _ want  _ to.

Almost like she could read her mind — well, maybe she  _ could _ — Leia continued, “She shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Swallowing roughly, Ameera braced herself and turned on to her side, so the princess and she were looking at each other. It took a while for Leia to restore eye contact, but, eventually, she did. 

“How can you honestly be thinking of her best behalf right now, Leia?” Ameera genuinely asked, afraid to voice her inner thoughts only to realize that she was madder at Padmé than she believed she was. “She —  _ hurt  _ you…!”

“She didn’t do it out of malice,” likewise, Leia struggled to speak. She wanted to rise above, but her true sentiments with the entire situation were holding her back. “She was with you, her friend, and she was joking around.”

“That’s not an excuse, Leia,” Ameera argued, her eyes glowing for reasons she couldn’t understand. “So many times you’ve been placed in situations where you had to make impossible choices. You were given an ultimatum when the Empire held a  _ Death Star  _ to Alderaan, and you didn’t falter, and that doesn’t make you  _ Vader.  _ People shouldn’t joke about that.”

“My choices were responsible for so much death, who’s to say that I’m not?” she asked heavily, “Even if I’m not  _ dark,  _ I’ve still hurt people, just like he did,” Leia wandered and forced her eyes closed before all the emotions she had been trying to hold inside started to leak. “I can’t—I don’t want Padmé to be alone. I don’t want Padmé to think she’s alone again.”

Ameera watched Leia’s reaction to her poor comment about Alderaan with a tight heart.

“Being alone… Being alone is terrifying,” Leia continued, “She’s made a mistake, yes, but I don’t want her to pay the ultimate price for it. I don’t want her to think that she’s alone again.”

“She—She doesn’t think that, Leia.”

“Yeah. She does,” Leia said softly. “Right now, she  _ is  _ all alone out there. You’re here,  _ with me _ , because you think there are sides to pick and you’ve decided to stand with me. Luke… Luke believes it’s his duty to protect me, and the idea that she’d think I’m Lady Vader is daunting him. He feels betrayed, because Padmé wasn’t supposed to say stuff like that, because Padmé was supposed to give me all the reassurance that she gives him. All the rapport he has built with Padmé, all the idealization he had of his mother — it doesn’t exist anymore, and Padmé  _ knows  _ as much. And I…”

Ameera uncomfortably listened to it all, struggling to look at Leia even though the princess still had her eyes closed.

“You can’t forgive.”

“No,” Leia said, “I can forgive, and I don’t necessarily blame Padmé for making a joke in the spur of the moment, or I think I don’t blame Padmé. I’m just… hurting. Is all.”

Ameera let out a long breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“There are no sides to choose, Ameera,” she continued, “I don’t want you to hate Padmé, because  _ I  _ don’t. Today, when she was there for me, and I  _ allowed  _ her to be there for me — it brought me so much warmth. So, I’m trying to focus on that warmth right now, because I… I  _ want  _ her to be part of my life. She isn’t perfect, but she is  _ good,  _ and although I might need a little space to breathe, I want that goodness in my life. And she’s your friend, Ameera, and — and you need her as much as she needs you.”

The Twi’lek couldn’t bring herself to smile when Leia finally dared to open her eyes again. “All right. I’ll go to her, if that’s what you want.”

“No…” Leia lamented, “Don’t do this for me. Forgive  _ her _ , Ameera. You need to. Otherwise, she will feel like she has nothing left.  _ You  _ will have nothing left.”

By now, Ameera’s vision had become blurry. She understood now perfectly that she was so mad at Padmé because Padmé had disrupted  _ their  _ little family — and Ameera wasn’t sure she had the right to include herself in the picture, but she  _ did,  _ and selfishly enough she had grown to like all of them. She wasn’t ready to lose them again, she wasn’t ready to be  _ alone  _ again when said family fell apart.

And yet—

“Isn’t it easier to be alone, Leia?” Ameera earnestly asked, on the edge of tears. “Doesn’t it hurt less to be alone and avoid all these heartbreaks?”

“No, it’s not,” Leia reached out to hold her hand, “And no, it doesn’t.”

Ameera would listen to her, Leia was certain of that much. Nobody knew better about loneliness than the two of them. 

* * *

Padmé didn’t care anymore about the tears streaming down her face as she sat down within the prison of her solitude. 

The journey between the Senate and the rebellion base had never taken so long.

She tried to recompose herself when she saw a tall Twi’lek approaching; she tried to wipe her tears and unwrinkle her clothes, even though there was no point to it.

Ameera indecorously sat next to her, arms crossed, and she didn’t utter a single word.

Padmé was confused.

“You… You’re back already?”

“Yeah,” was all the answer Ameera managed to give.

Padmé tried to nod, except — she had no idea what that meant. 

“W—Why?”

Ameera looked at her dead in the eyes and did her best to smile. She came as close as to believe she had succeeded. 

“Because I forgive you.”

She wouldn’t tell Padmé about her conversation with Leia, because Leia had asked her as much — after all, the princess wasn’t coping as well as she  _ believed  _ she was. Still, she took Leia’s words to her heart.

_ Being alone wasn't easier. Being alone didn’t hurt less. _

But depending on people and getting hurt by them and learning how to forgive them when forgiveness was needed — it was worth the heartbreak.

The pain was better than solitude.

Ameera wrapped her arm around Padmé’s shoulders, pulled her close, and held her hand.

_ It was worth it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to quote-ish frozen - sometimes you have to get a little lost on your way to being found.
> 
> leave me a comment!


	27. Twenty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i must have rewritten this chapter around three times to get it right. we've got lots of bonding between the characters and I'm happy as to how it turned out

Padmé was sad.

Just sad.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this heartbroken. 

_ Actually,  _ she could — when Anakin betrayed her and she lost both the children she had been carrying in her womb. Right now, she felt the same.

She felt the pain of the world turning its back on her and the infinity of the galaxy crushing her tiny existence. She  _ hated  _ feeling like that, she had forgotten how bad it was, this sensation that barely allowed her to breathe.

This sensation that came close to feelings of  _ death _ . 

When they arrived back at the rebel base, the little party finally allowed themselves to the tension in the air. It was hard to look at each other’s faces, and the unspoken was so loud that it was nearly deafening.

Luke passed straight past her, guiding C-3PO out of the Falcon before things became  _ nasty _ . He barely looked at her face, didn’t as much as try to offer her a smile; he just walked past her, with only the task in his hands in mind. Because nothing else mattered other than the welfare of his sister.

Not soon after, Han emerged from the cockpit, his expression tired and his mind absent. He didn’t pay attention to her as he followed straight to his chamber where Leia was, but Padmé couldn’t tell whether he already knew of what had happened or he was simply conditioned not to pay attention to  _ people  _ that weren’t  _ Leia.  _

Considering everything that she knew of the smuggler, Padmé was inclined to believe the latter.

Padmé was determined to stay there until Leia came out of the bunk and she would have no other choice but to  _ face  _ Padmé. Thank the stars Padmé still had Ameera as her better conscious, and the Twi’lek pretty much dragged her out of there. 

Now, both women lied in their respective cots in their private room. The light was still on, but Ameera was sound asleep, curled up on her side. Padmé couldn’t sleep, though; there was too much going through her mind, as every one of her failures flashed through her mind like a holomovie.

She thought of Leia and everything that the young girl had gone through. Losing her parents, losing her homeworld; she had nothing left. And she was  _ broken _ ; the course of the war had taken everything from her, it barely left her with oxygen to breathe. She was fighting so many inner battles that Padmé wasn’t aware of, and it wasn’t  _ fair.  _ It wasn’t fair because a child of Padmé’s wasn’t supposed to suffer so much. If only Padmé could have kept her safe, as she had on the womb… The notion that Padmé failed to be her  _ friend,  _ day after day, __ above anything else, brought her unbearable pain.

Padmé had failed her, ever since they found their way to each other.

She thought of Luke and everything that the young boy had gone through. Losing his kins to the war and then being forced into the war because of his paranormal powers when nobody had stopped to ask what he truly wanted. Who he truly wanted to  _ be.  _ His fate was thrust into him, and the course of the war had taken everything from him. It stole all his brightness and innocence and replaced it with unending suffering. If only Padmé could have kept him safe, as she had on the womb… That was all he’d ever wanted, to have a family to call his own, to have a mother that unconditionally loved him and a father that didn’t willingly choose to bring harm to everything that came his way. Sure, Luke was her son  _ now,  _ but Padmé had failed to provide the family that he yearned ever since the start, and that notion brought her unmeasurable guilt.

Padmé failed him, long before they found their way to each other again.

She couldn’t turn her thoughts off. She wanted to, she wanted to give in to the exhaustion that made her bones heavier than usual, but she couldn’t. The guilt of everything she had said was too loud. She wanted to believe she was exaggerating, but — she genuinely thought she had lost the twins, that their relationship was beyond repairable, and the pain of losing both her children was too much.

She didn’t think Leia would ever look at her face again, and Padmé couldn’t blame her. She had done the princess wrong, and it was fair that she would now pay the price. Except — the price was agonizing, and she didn’t know how to push herself through it.

As if losing her daughter hadn’t been enough, her own deeds had also stolen her son from her.  _ Her son,  _ the child of hers that had unconditionally loved her ever since she came to his life, and she had once thought nothing would ever shatter their sacred bond.

But his bond to his sister was bigger; it was larger than life. 

As it should be, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t  _ hurt.  _ Padmé came to the miserable conclusion that losing her children in their adulthood, when she already knew of their personalities and the essence of their beings, was incredibly harder than losing them in her womb, when their lives were no more than a conjecture to her.

This pain was unbearable.

She was lost amidst the sadness of her thoughts, and the soft sudden knocking against the door almost gave her a heart attack. Yet, the idea of someone on the other side of the door gave her  _ hope _ ; it meant one of her children had forgiven her or  _ wanted  _ to.

Nobody else would come to her; she wasn’t important anymore.

Padmé quickly jumped to her feet, unbothered with appearances as she rushed to the door and allowed it open. It didn’t come to her as a surprise that Luke was there,  _ her son,  _ looking like he had aged ten years in the span of one evening.

_ All because of her _ .

“We need to talk,” Luke said simply. He didn’t smile, he didn’t look content,  _ nothing  _ like the young man whose facial traits lit up every time he saw his mother. Padmé realized with a heavy heart that he no longer was that man, neither was she that mother. When she didn’t move or say anything, he added, “I won’t be long.”

Padmé swallowed hard; she  _ wanted  _ him to be long, she longed for his presence more than she ever did after meeting him for the first time. Because — because she was on the verge of losing him all over again, and that mere idea had haunted her every nightmare ever since she arrived here.

She thought she had been past nightmares becoming true, though. She had never been so wrong.

Silently, she stepped aside and let him in. Luke noticed Ameera lying in the spare bunk, and was a little hesitant to be there,  _ having  _ the conversation he was about to have — but with one quick brush of the Force, he assessed that she was fast asleep.

He envied her. He doubted he would be getting any sleep any time soon. And knowing his sister, Leia was probably the same.

Not waiting for an invitation, Luke sat by the edge of Padmé’s bed. Padmé, on the other hand, leaned against the wall and anchored herself there. She remained silent, she was terrified that words would start betraying her and — she had lost the place to say anything.

“How are you doing, Padmé?”

His first question caught her off guard, and she tilted her head. She wished everything had been magically fixed just like that, but nothing was ever that simple.

“You didn’t come all the way here just to ask how I’m doing.”

“No,” Luke agreed, “But I thought I’d ask anyway.”

Padmé bit on her lip until she drew blood.

“I’m not alright, Luke,” she admitted with a heavy voice. “But I hardly think that matters for the time being. It’s not  _ supposed  _ to, because I can’t be the one in need of comfort, and I can’t be responsible for placing the burden of my welfare over you. It wouldn’t be fair.”

She wanted to add that she had already caused them too much damage, but she didn’t know how to say it without sounding pitiful of herself. Therefore, she remained silent.

Luke tried to smile ironically — he couldn’t even bring himself to do as much. “I’m a Jedi. I’m attuned to everybody’s sentiments around me, as unbearable as they might be.  _ Even  _ yours.”

Padmé conceded with a small, uncomfortable nod. As of now, she wasn’t too fond of her son fiddling through her feelings, when her feelings were betraying even  _ her.  _

But when his face dropped at the sound of his own words — Padmé realized there was something bigger happening, bigger than the fragility of their family chords.

“What is it, Luke?”

Luke Skywalker did not respond; he didn’t want to, because he struggled to admit his failure to his sister out loud, and that he no longer shared a bond to  _ her  _ — especially not to Padmé; despite everything that had happened, he was still  _ desperate  _ to have her approval, to have her be proud of him. And he hated this side of him, because above everything he was on  _ Leia’s  _ side.

__ He heard his heart on his ears, and he felt his nails on his skin. His eyes were dark and his face was pale. He felt everything, and he felt nothing at all.

He didn’t know how it was possible to feel so much while also being hollow.

“Luke,” Padmé once again called for him in his silence. “I know that we’re navigating through… troubled waters as of now, but I’m still here for you. You will always have a safe harbor on me.”

Luke cleared his throat. “It doesn’t feel —  _ right  _ to be here whining to you while I’m also  _ so mad  _ at you.”

Chewing on her lip, she nodded with her head as strongly as she could. “It doesn’t feel right because of me, because of you, or because of… Leia?”

He slightly rolled his eyes. “You know the answer to that.”

Padmé hummed in agreeance. “You can still pledge allegiance to your sister while seeking solace for the matters troubling you.”

He huffed. “Seems a little bit hypocritical of me, though.”

Again, she nodded, but this time in understanding. “Would Leia feel the same way?”

Tiredly, he pressed his fingers to his eyes. She probably wouldn’t, but wouldn’t she? She had always been so adamant that he knew she gave him her blessing to be Padmé’s  _ son  _ and just that, but would that bliss extend to them even now?

“I can’t tell that anymore.”

Padmé tilted her head, a little puzzled with whatever he had meant.

“Well, Luke. You’re not under any obligation to bring me your burdens. All I’m saying is that I’m here, no matter what.”

Luke anxiously nodded, and before he could stop himself—

“I… I no longer feel Leia’s presence in the Force.”

Padmé’s eyes immediately widened. Of course, she wasn’t well versed in the ways of the Force, she had  _ no  _ idea what he meant by that, but the way he phrased it… She barely allowed her mind the time to process anything before she gasped—

“Is Leia dead?!”

And it was Luke’s turn to panic. 

“What? No—Leia isn’t  _ dead.  _ Why would you even say that?!”

She let out a prolonged exhale of relief; she didn’t think her question was so counterfactual, after all. It was a dreadful thought, yes, but not an unreasonable one. Leia was struggling so much Padmé feared for the day she might have had  _ enough  _ and decided to end it. Padmé shivered; she didn’t even want to think about that.

Sure, a few months ago Leia had promised them that she didn’t want to  _ die,  _ but that was months ago, and — God, Padmé  _ really  _ needed to sit down with her and talk.

If Leia — and Luke — ever allowed her to.

“Leia isn’t dead,” Luke repeated, this time allowing the words to sink to his own heart. “I wouldn’t be able to  _ stand  _ if Leia were dead. Leia means everything to me, Padmé, I don’t know how to exist without her anymore.”

Flashes of a life without his sister flickered through his mind and he was stolen from his own breath. His lower lip trembled like a loose leaf in the wind; he wanted to scream, he wanted to flounce and hurt someone.  _ He couldn’t.  _ He was stuck with the image of what his life would be without  _ her,  _ and that image took everything from him.

Because the day that he lost someone wasn't the worst. It was all the days that they stayed dead.

_ All the days she stayed dead. _

Wrapping his arms around himself, he closed his eyes tightly, until the images had disappeared. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, overwhelmed. “The mere prospect of losing Leia  _ terrifies  _ me, and… I guess that’s why I’m so scared.”

Likewise, Padmé folded her arms, trying to contain her worry. “Luke. If you even remotely suspect there’s a  _ remote  _ reason for you to be scared—”

“No, no. Not like that,” Luke reassured. “At least — I don’t  _ think  _ so. What I meant is, ah. Leia and I no longer share our connection in the Force, and I am lost.”

Padmé looked at him intently. She was aware that the twins, given their blood ties, shared an unfathomable bond, one that allowed them to connect empirically and communicate ethereally. What did he mean, it no longer existed —?

“Yeah,” he concurred.

“Oh,” she replied quietly because there wasn’t anything else she could say. She knew the importance of that connection to the twins, but other than that, it was nothing more than a concept she couldn’t grasp. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he said again. “Earlier today, when Leia was having —  _ that.  _ I tried to soothe her, to bring the serenity that the Force brings  _ me _ , and I only made it so much worse. She was so scared that she somehow severed our connection, and now… She’s  _ gone _ .”

Padmé breathed in heavily, comprehending. If only she had kept her mouth shut and not bragged that C-3PO was built by Anakin — well, she couldn’t undo her deeds, but the story would have followed  _ so  _ differently, and so much pain would be spared.

“It’s just—” Luke carried on, lost within his own thoughts. “There are things that you can’t express through words, only through touching somebody’s  _ soul.  _ I can’t reach Leia’s soul anymore, and there’s  _ so much  _ I want her to know.”

“Tell her anyway, Luke.”

Luke clasped his hands anxiously together. “I’m so afraid I’ll say the wrong thing, and I’ll make everything worse. But feelings… I can never do her wrong with feelings. With them, I can tell her exactly how loved she is.”

“Tell her anyway, Luke,” Padmé repeated, hoping he would listen to her. “Words are more powerful than you can imagine.”

“Hm,” Luke moaned, a sour taste in his mouth. “Then why did you tell her what you did?”

“I didn’t say it to her  _ face _ , Luke,” Padmé argued. “I’m not exempt from the blame, this entire situation happened because of  _ me,  _ but I never said it to her face. I would never willingly do so.”

Luke sighed, so conflicted regarding the whole matter. He was slightly relieved that, for the time being, Leia remained shut off to him; dealing with his feelings and those of Padmé’s was already troublesome enough, he didn’t need the weight of Leia’s distressed consciousness lurking on his mind as well.

Because when Leia allowed herself to  _ feel,  _ she felt too much.

“Then why don’t you paint me a picture, Padmé?” Luke requested, decided to shift the focus of his mind. He didn’t feel very comfortable speaking with Padmé about his Force connection with Leia when  _ he  _ couldn’t tell where they stood as of now, anyway. “Because, frankly, from what I gathered, you might as well have  _ meant  _ what you said.”

A little bit hysterically, Padmé shook her head vigorously. She knew that had been his only reason to have come to find her, and she  _ knew  _ that was a conversation that needed to be had, even if Leia wasn’t there with them. Still, for some subconscious reason she couldn’t comprehend, she suddenly feared that discourse more than anything.

She was  _ terrified  _ of the consequences.

“Ameera and I… We were talking about your sister. Apparently, she’s confessed to Ameera that—”

“I’m not very comfortable with you retelling me something Leia told  _ Ameera  _ in private,” Luke denounced, feeling a little bit too much animosity for both the mother and the Twi’lek at that moment for breaking Leia’s trust so naturally.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry,” Padmé assured, “Ameera was pretty firm on keeping what they talked about to herself, and I have tremendous respect for her on that aspect. I wouldn’t be telling on your sister either, Luke, except… Apparently, Leia has got a  _ bad feeling,  _ and that made me worry.”

Luke stared at her blankly, waiting for an explanation that never came.

“…Why?”

“Why?!” Padmé frowned, “Luke, you’re a  _ Jedi.  _ I’m sure you understand the nature of…  _ bad  _ feelings.”

Luke pouted his lips. “I understand that bad feelings come and go, and there isn’t much we can do about them.”

She tilted her head, “Do you honestly believe it to be so simple?”

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “I understand that I’ve had a bad feeling once and I jumped the gun and nearly lost Han and Leia in the process.  _ But  _ I would most likely also have lost Han and Leia if I hadn’t done anything about it, which brings me to the question, would I do anything differently now that I know better? No, probably not. I may be a little wiser now, but I will still do anything in my power to protect Leia, and Han, and  _ you _ . If Leia has a bad feeling, she’ll find the solution to it herself. She’s very smart, and she’s really calculated, so I trust her to make the right decisions for herself,  _ and  _ for the rest of us.”

Padmé shifted a little uncomfortably; funny how those had been the same words that Padmé had chosen to describe Leia earlier that day, yet in such a pejorative way.

“You can’t blame me for freaking out a little,” she said, “Not when your father had so many bad feelings and bad dreams about the death of the three of us, and his thrive to do us  _ right  _ drove him into falling.”

It was Luke’s turn to fold his arms in discomfort. “Leia is not Anakin, Padmé. Above all, she isn’t  _ Vader. _ ”

A grim took over her face. “I—I  _ know  _ that, Luke. The path of the father isn’t the path of the daughter,” she said, Ameera’s words echoing in her mind, “But it got me thinking, and Ameera and I were talking and teasing around, and I simply joked that Leia would… She would be a great Vader, greater than Vader himself.”

Luke lowered his head. “That isn’t something to joke about.”

“I know, Luke.”

“Especially — after everything that Leia told us just this afternoon! Did her words mean nothing to you?”

“You know that there’s nothing more that I want than to help your sister.”

Luke chose silence.

“I’m sorry, Luke.”

Luke simply shook his head; whether he was unaccepting of her apology or indicating there was no need for an apology directed at him at all, she would never know. 

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.”

Padmé sighed. “No. But you also are.”

Tiredly, Luke scratched his chin. She was right, her comment had been haunting him, maybe even more than it had affected Leia. There was just — so much going through his mind, and he needed to lash out.

Even worse, he didn’t know if he  _ could  _ be gentle about it, or if he wanted to. And that bothered him the most because there was a point in his life where he thought everything could be worked through kind words and tenderness.

Apparently, he drew the line when the subject shifted to his sister.

He let out a breath; that shouldn’t surprise him. After all, the same had happened when he had last confronted Darth Vader in the last Death Star, when  _ their father  _ had threatened to turn her to the dark side in his place. He doubted he would ever be as enraged as in that moment; however, Padmé’s blasted comment came close. Closer than he would like to admit.

“Just say it, Luke,” Padmé instructed, once his silence started to weigh on the pre-established tension in the air. “Don’t filter yourself, just let it all out. No matter how crude and ruthless it is. You  _ need  _ to say it. If we have any hope of ever,  _ ever  _ working through this, we need to be as blunt as possible. We’re past the point of trying to protect each other by hiding the depth of our feelings.”

“Okay,” Luke agreed, and albeit everything he had just heard — he still took a moment to choose his words, to choose the ones that would cause the least damage. “Okay, okay. I guess—With your permission, I’ll allow myself to be blunt,” he rambled, and Padmé couldn’t bring herself to find it  _ adorable,  _ as she usually would. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“Why did I—”

“Why did you decide that Leia would be a great  _ Lady Vader,  _ when I’m right here, practicing the ways of the Force and the only one with the prospect of  _ actually  _ turning into Vader?” Luke clarified, looking up with his big, piercing blue eyes. There was a misty layer above them, but he could not control it.

“Luke, I—”

“What makes me better than her?!” Luke once again interrupted, and this time, Padmé chose him to give him the grounds to sort his thoughts before she attempted to say anything else. “Leia and I are the same, you weren’t supposed to choose who was the better child! How could you choose, Padmé?”

Padmé waited wordlessly for a while longer, only realizing he was done when he started looking at her expectantly. Still, she grasped to her quietude for a little longer. Maybe, just like Luke needed to order his thoughts aloud, she needed to do it in her silence. 

“Luke,” she started, and saying his name had never felt so daunting. “She’s so much like your father, Luke.”

“Stop!” he nearly shouted, and looked a little apologetic when he remembered that Ameera was dead asleep next to them, and he dreaded to disturb her. “We  _ both  _ came from him, and from you. We have just as much him in us as we have  _ you. _ ”

“Yes, but…” her voice was hoarse. “Leia hurts so much, Luke, just like Anakin did. I am fucking  _ terrified  _ that she’ll make a wrong choice and we’ll lose her forever.”

“Leia is stronger than that,” Luke accused. “And  _ nothing  _ is lost forever. Not even Anakin was.”

Padmé let out a long breath. “I know that Leia is very strong. But I’m her mother, and—”

“Would you have said the same about me?”

“What?!”

Luke looked at her with dead eyes. “Would you ever say that I would make a great Vader?”

Padmé swallowed roughly, and her refusal to answer was enough of an answer.

“Great,” Luke grunted. “Just fucking great.”

“Luke, I — I messed up, okay? I fucking messed up, and I won’t  _ ever  _ forgive myself for the things I’ve said today. But what I need you to understand is, I’m not perfect, and in a moment of lack of judgment, I failed you. I failed you both.”

He looked down to his lap, running his hands up and down his thighs. “I… I’m not sure that makes it any better.”

Feeling very small, Padmé wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s not supposed to.”

Luke slightly tilted his head, accepting that answer. Because, the deeper their conversation evolved, the worst he felt. His feelings were just — messed up, and he couldn’t remember the last time his life had felt so out of focus.

“I realized I’ve steered the entire conversation so far, so,” he choked on his words, “Do you want to say anything? About — About the entire situation?”

“Not to you,” Padmé confessed. Her mind and heart resided with the daughter hidden very far away from her.

He nodded, trying to look back up only to have his gaze fall back to the ground a few seconds later. “I… I need you to understand one thing. I  _ love  _ Leia, more than words can describe.”

Padmé tried to smile. “You don’t have to explain that.”

He gingerly raised the index finger of his dominant hand. “I love Leia,” he repeated, “In the choice between you and her — and I  _ hate  _ that we’ve reached a point where choices might be needed to be made — I will always choose…  _ her. _ ”

“I would worry if you didn’t, Luke,” she replied coolly. “Not only have you known your sister for longer than you’ve known me, but you also share a bond with her that I will never understand. Nobody ever will. Your bond is  _ sacred,  _ and it must be cherished at all costs.”

Luke silently scoffed to himself. “Not anymore.”

“You’ll get it back,” Padmé reassured. “You just have to be patient. With yourself and… with  _ her _ .”

He anxiously nodded; he had already concluded that having his sister alive without their Force connection was better than the alternative. Still, it was almost like he didn’t know how to breathe anymore, now that she wasn’t there anymore. 

He grit his teeth, his muscles tense—

“Why did you choose between us, Padmé?”

Although the words were repeating themselves, Padmé understood very well that that was a different question. He wasn’t asking what was wrong with Leia, but instead — what wasn’t wrong with  _ him _ .

And he was terrified of the answer.

“I didn’t choose, Luke,” she tried to clarify, “Anakin — was getting into my head, tormenting me over the things he had done, and I was worrying for Leia, and the thoughts intertwined and… I said things in the spur of the moment that I regret.”

Luke bit on his lip harshly. “No. That’s what you want to believe. An answer like that… It was calculated. It was overly analyzed,  _ even  _ if in the spur of the moment.”

Padmé shivered under the scrutiny of his eyes. “So maybe it was, Luke. Maybe this hasn’t been the first time that I’ve worried about the possibility of your sister turning.”

Luke nodded, appreciative of her honesty. “But you never worried about  _ me  _ turning?”

She sighed. “If you have something you want to say, Luke, just say it.

“Alright,” he reluctantly complied, and his face showed all the disgust he felt with himself upon saying, “Do you think you said what you said because you’re projecting Anakin onto Leia? Projecting your repulse for Anakin onto her? And maybe because this rejection of yours might make you  _ reject  _ Leia, like you love her less than you love me?”

Padmé’s mouth all but fell open. How had they gotten to that? Had she been such a  _ bad  _ person to Leia that it was questionable her affection for the girl?

“I love you equally, Luke,” she bluntly replied, “But I also love you differently.”

He waited for her explanation in silence.

“Nothing is ever so simple.”

“Then explain it to me,” Luke instructed, slightly impatient. “Lay it all out for me. Like I am no more than a child.”

She nodded, and — she wondered whether that was how he felt. 

“Okay…” she tried, “Okay. Well, I’m sure you’re aware of this much, Luke, but you and I have established a good rapport, a good  _ relationship  _ ever since the first moment we saw each other. We’ve bonded, and we’ve grown on one another to the point that we went from nothing to… to a  _ family _ .”

Reluctantly, Luke agreed.

“Well…” she repeated, “The same can’t be said for Leia and me.”

Luke swallowed hard; he was  _ aware  _ of it. Ever since Leia had learned about Padmé’s existence, she had gone out of her way to make sure that Padmé  _ understood  _ she wasn’t her mother. Before, he used to think it too crude of his sister, that she was being unfair and mean for absolutely no reason. Now, he wished he had looked after her a little more, instead of jumping into the comfort of a woman he barely knew. He wished he had taken her side more often, or at least tried to understand where she was coming from. 

Because as of now — he felt like he had failed her.

“That’s not a fair statement,” he murmured, “Leia  _ is  _ doing her best.”

“I know, Luke,” she said tiredly, “But that doesn’t change the fact that in the couple of months that we’ve known each other for, there has been more turmoil than peace.”

“You can’t blame that on her.”

“I never said I did,” she pointed out, a little surprised that he was so  _ desperately  _ defending his sister from her. “Luke, it’s just you and I here. You don’t have to prove yourself to me, or to your sister, right now. I know how much you value Leia.”

He looked down again, grunting, “I value her more than you do, that’s for sure.”

His words had hurt her worse than a knife through her heart; her eyes stung and she wanted nothing more than to start crying. Because, in the end — he was  _ right,  _ and she despised herself for it.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Padmé compressed her lips tightly. “It’s okay. You’re not wrong and I… I will never forgive myself for that. For loving you  _ better _ than I love your sister.”

Luke shut his eyes harshly. “Don’t tell me that. Don’t  _ ever  _ tell me that, Padmé…!”

“Luke, I…” she stuttered on her words; motherhood had never felt so hard, so  _ wrong.  _ “We harvest what we plant, Luke. When you learned of me, you wanted me, you  _ needed  _ me. You wanted me to be part of your life, you wanted me to be your  _ mother _ . You craved my love as I craved yours. And because of our mutual urgency for each other, our relationship blossomed and became something beautiful — something to  _ cherish.  _ When Leia learned of me, she wanted nothing to do with me. She undervalued my existence, and she made it very clear that I would never have a role in her life — or, at least, not the role I  _ wanted.  _ I was so desperate for her that I never honored her wishes, and it might have gotten us…  _ somewhere _ … but Leia and I’s relationship was never as healthy as yours and mine.”

“Again, you… you’re not being fair!” Luke cried; his eyes opened again and they were  _ red.  _ “You’re painting Leia as some sort of villain in your story and that’s not fair, because she’s everything  _ but _ .”

“Perhaps you’re right, I’m not being fair,” she conceded, “But what you have to yet to understand is that relationships  _ are  _ biased. It’s human nature, we are drawn to those that are drawn to us. You and I connected ever since our first interaction, but the same can’t be said for Leia and me. However, that doesn’t make her a villain, or any less of a good person. It makes her…  _ her _ . You and your sister are two completely different people, and I was wrong to come here expecting the same treatment from both of you.”

By then, Luke’s cheeks were wet, and he did not attempt to try and hide it.

“I don’t think you have it in you to fall to the dark side, Luke. It’s not — in your nature. Your essence is your goodness, alongside this great amount of love you have in your heart. Despite all the horrors you have seen and gone through, you still choose to believe in the best of people, and  _ that  _ can’t be stolen from you. It wouldn’t be stolen from you, even if you  _ did  _ fall to the dark side — which is why I also told Ameera that you would be a disgraceful Vader.”

If she was trying to bring them some comic relief, she failed miserably.

“I don’t think your sister is going to fall to the dark side, either. Well, I want to believe that she won’t. If she does, if she reaches a point in her life where she doesn’t know how to cope with everything that has happened without falling, then — you’ll bring her back. You brought Anakin back, you’ll bring her back too.”

Luke sniffed, thinking of the promise he and Leia had pledged to each other if they ever crossed to the dark side.

“Being the one to  _ stay behind  _ isn’t the gratification that you think it is,” he whispered, pulling his legs up the bed, close to his chest.

“Nobody knows that better than I,” Padmé spoke melancholically. “And than your sister. I was forced to  _ die  _ when the Empire rose, I lost my children and my husband and my family, and it hurt to be alone. Leia lost her entire world, her entire support system to the Empire, and — mind you, I won’t be speaking over her own feelings, but you  _ know  _ her, Luke. You know that she isn’t coping well with her losses.”

In response, Luke hugged his legs.

Feeling a little bit bold, Padmé walked up to him and hesitantly sat by his side. He shivered under her presence but did not try to pull away. 

“Leia has lost everything,” she quietly said, choosing her words carefully in fear she would sound insensitive. “She has lost  _ everything _ , and she doesn’t know how to handle her losses. And Anakin turned  _ before  _ he even lost us.”

Luke listened, but he didn’t know how to answer. So, he stayed silent.

“I’m just trying to make you understand where my comment came from,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t trying to hurt Leia, I wasn’t being vain in purpose. I am just — scared. That I will lose yet another person that I love to the dark side.”

Luke brought his hand to his neck, unconsciously trying to free himself of the invisible strings stealing him of his breath. “What if… What if  _ I  _ was the one to turn?”

Padmé breathed in a long breath.

“Leia isn’t the one who’s suffering, you know,” Luke added shyly. “She has suffered on a greater scale than we can comprehend. The war has left her traumatized, she is heartbroken and she’s struggling to find who she  _ is  _ now that the chaos is over. But that doesn’t make her the only one who’s going through something.”

Padmé abruptly turned her head towards him, her eyes big and startled.

“Luke, if you’re hurting, you  _ have  _ to tell me. I’m not a Jedi, I can’t read your mind—”

“I know that,” he replied with the calm that had been stolen from her. “I don’t think I’m hurting, only — conflicted inside.”

Padmé waited, digging her nails anxiously into the palm of her hands.

“When I first started training with Yoda, I had a vision. Long before I even learned of my parentage, I had a vision where darkness found me. In this vision, I… I saw Vader, and I dueled Vader. It was cold, and it was dark, and it was terrifying, and I stroke Vader down. In this vision, I killed him, but when his mask fell off… He wasn’t Vader. He was —  _ me _ .”

Padmé’s eyes enlarged, and her vision suddenly became blurry. “Luke—”

“Yeah,” he didn’t allow her the chance to say anything of substance. “I understand it was a vision and a vision only, but sometimes, even now, I can’t help myself but wondering — what if it’s true? What if Vader’s path is  _ my  _ path? What if I’m doomed to finish what he started? I am, after all, Vader’s  _ son,  _ and I can’t deny the darkness inherited. What if I’ve been destined to ascend in darkness ever since the start?”

Padmé could only breathe heavily in silence; Luke did not blame her sudden lack of words.

“Did I ever tell you what happened in the second Death Star?” he prompted impromptu, looking with dead eyes at the blank wall across from him. “I guess not, I don’t talk much about it, it’s not a light topic to bring out as small talk.” 

“Luke—”

“Palpatine had Vader and I dueling. He wanted me to kill Vader and to take my father’s place by his side. I refused to kill him, I knew there was still good in him, and I was ready to die for what I believed in. So, Palpatine took matters into his own hands. He… He started to use his power against me, electrocuting me  _ just  _ to prove I was wrong. I don’t think I had ever undergone that amount of pain — physical pain, mind you — and I  _ begged  _ for my father to save me.”

Padmé sat there perfectly still, unable to move, or blink, or breathe.

He choked a laugh. “That moment, when I begged for help and it never came, I realized — I  _ was  _ wrong. There was nothing left of Anakin in Vader, and Vader was willing to let his master kill his son. Meanwhile, Palpatine’s laughter carried out, alongside his torture. I could taste death on the tip of my tongue; it was so close that I could almost touch it with my fingers.

“But, eventually, Vader caved. It took him a  _ long  _ time to make a decision, and a lot of pain on my end could have been spared if only he had acted sooner. But it’s okay, he showed me empathy, he  _ saved  _ me from Palpatine, even if it meant he would die trying to do so. He made the ultimate sacrifice, for his  _ son _ , and that sensation is  _ so  _ strange to me. I’ve never really had a father figure in my life, and this kind of selfless love is so unfamiliar. I got to meet Vader when he was Vader no more. I took off his helmet, and I had the chance to look at Anakin,  _ my father,  _ in the eyes. There, I could see that he loved me, and he died for this love.

“You see, Vader chose the light again. He wasn’t defined by the darkness that corrupted him, at least not in his final moments. So, if I am my father’s son, then I carry this light inside of me as well. Maybe, not all is lost. But I would  _ never  _ forgive myself if I brought unmeasurable pain to the galaxy to find the light within myself. And I wouldn’t want my kins to pardon me either. Some crimes — are too horrid to be forgiven. Which is so hypocritical of me, because I  _ forgave  _ Anakin. He saved me, and I forgive him. I don’t forgive Vader, I never will, but I forgive Anakin.”

Padmé swallowed roughly. “Your willingness to forgive him is proof that there’s light within you,  _ only  _ light.”

Luke hummed, neither in agreeance or discordance.

“You know what gets me the most about all of this?” he started again, lost in his flux of consciousness. “His last words to me before his final breath were,  _ tell your sister you were right.  _ He wanted her to know that there was still good in him, that he came back to the light, but I can’t tell her that, Padmé. I can’t  _ ever  _ do that to her. He did despicable things to her, yet, he saved me. How could I ever tell her that amidst all his hatred for her, he still found it within himself to love me?”

Padmé felt her eyes  _ burning.  _

“I thought Vader didn’t know that Leia was his biological daughter.”

“He didn’t,” Luke said, “Not until his last moments. However, he knew who I was to him during our first direct contact, and he had spent much more time with Leia. How did he fail to see their kinship? How could he do… All those terrible things to her?”

She swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t know, Luke.”

“Me either,” he sighed. “I hate Vader, I really do. The things that he did… I will never forgive him for his crimes. However, I choose to forgive Anakin, because he came back, and he did what he could to make his past right. So I found myself  _ conflicted  _ inside because I want to embrace my heritage, but I can’t do that without bringing immeasurable pain to my found family — because I do consider you and Leia to be my found family first, despite our blood ties. It’s not fair that I’d forgive him after all the pain that he’s brought you and Leia — and  _ Han.  _ Wouldn’t this forgiveness of mine for the crimes committed against you and them a form of evilness itself? Aren’t I letting you down by forgiving him?”

Unsure of what else she could do, Padmé gently placed her hand on his back, and he shivered instantaneously — like she was Palpatine, electrocuting him all over again. Padmé winced and pulled back. 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you forgiving Anakin, so long as you don’t try to justify the things he has done, nor demand that those who he hurt forgive him as well. Showing kindness towards the most troubled souls is yet another testimony of the goodness that abides in you.”

Luke shook his head earnestly, disregarding her last words. “I would never ask that of Leia. I — I just wish she had gotten to meet the man that  _ I  _ met.”

“I don’t think it would have made any difference,” Padmé said, “Unlike you, Leia always had a strong father and mother figure in her life. She never needed Anakin to fulfill this void inside of her.”

“Yeah. Perhaps not,” he agreed. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I don’t know if I’m ever going to fall to the dark side. Neither does Leia. But I know for a fact that we are both  _ terrified  _ of the darkness, and we both thrive to do good, day after day. I think that should count for something.”

And he turned his head at last to give her a dirty look, “What you said was completely out of line.”

She chuckled softly and ironically to herself. “I know. But I won’t give up, Luke. I won’t give up trying to repair myself to your sister, to  _ you.  _ I know I messed up, I know that I just made the stupidest mistake of my life but — but I will fight to make it right again. I will  _ be  _ better for you.”

Sighing relentlessly, Luke allowed his legs to fall back to the ground, but chose to let his mind work with the promises he had just been offered rather than say something to redeem her when it wasn’t  _ his  _ place to redeem her.

“I—I need to talk to Leia,” he admitted, “I need to know where she is as of now, what she’s feeling. I need her to  _ know  _ that I’m on her side, first. We’ll go from there.”

He was used to Leia having her shields up all the time, barely allowing him a hint of her feelings. He missed that sensation, of having her there just — just because she was  _ there.  _ Anything was better than her complete absence. 

He desperately needed to talk to her and ask her forgiveness and hope she would let him in again.

“Okay…” Padmé nodded; it was a fair request, anyway. “I just hope that she doesn’t hate me forever.”

For the first time in forever, he brought himself to look at her again, his eyes glimpsing with unshed tears from the overwhelming of their entire conversation. Padmé traveled back in time, the spinning image of child Anakin being forced to leave his mother behind flashing through her mind. They looked so alike at that moment that it haunted her.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, Padmé,” he said with a tight heart. “I think… I don’t think that Leia does, either.”

Pursuing her lips in a thin line, she closed her eyes briefly and sadly consented.

“I love you, Luke. I love you and your sister more than you could ever imagine.”

Exhaling loudly, Luke got up. He placed a tender kiss of gratitude for her last words on her forehead and left without as much as a goodbye.

_ He left without saying he loved her too. _

Upon his departure, Padmé wanted nothing more than to cry. However, for some reason, she  _ couldn’t.  _

“Ameera,” her trembling lips cried the name of her friend. There was no immediate response. “Ameera,  _ please.  _ I know you’re not asleep.”

A little embarrassed, Ameera raised her head from her pillow. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. I  _ promise.  _ I was sleeping and — the commotion woke me up, and it felt too awkward for me to announce myself.”

Padmé simply waved her hand. She didn’t care about  _ that _ . She would have probably replayed the entire conversation to Ameera later on, anyway.

“I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s okay,” Ameera said, moving into a seating position. “I was having —  _ starting  _ to have a bad dream. You actually did me a favor of waking me up before things got messy.”

Padmé silently nodded; she was well aware of Ameera’s nightmares. More often than not, she would wake up to the Twi’lek panting next to her, in the middle of the night, and although Ameera always told her to go back to sleep, saying she was  _ fine,  _ Padmé deeply felt for her friend.

“Padmé?”

The human’s face was twitching, and there were all sorts of emotions flicking through her expression. Ameera wasn’t sure for how longer Padmé would be able to hold herself together, and she didn’t know  _ why  _ she was even trying to.

“He didn’t call me mother. Not a single time.”

The confession was so broken and heartfelt that Ameera felt Padmé’s pain in her own heart. 

“Come on. I’m sure that doesn’t mean anything. He’s just having a hard time, you heard him yourself, all the terrible things that he also faced.”

Anxiously, Padmé nodded.

So out of her element — and taking Leia’s words to her  _ heart  _ — Ameera jumped over to Padmé’s bed, where she instructed Padmé to lie down. Padmé was resistant at first, trying to calm herself on her own terms, but Ameera was just as insistent. Then, Padmé was lying with her head on Ameera’s lap, with the Twi’lek smoothly running her fingers through her head while humming some sweet songs of her childhood. Padmé wept quietly.

A silent promise that Ameera was there, and if Padmé ever came to lose everything else, she wouldn’t lose  _ her _ .

* * *

When Leia asked Han to give her some space while she took a well deserved bath, he respectfully waited for her outside, anxiously seating in the tiny bunk of her private quarter as she took her time in the fresher.

When Leia asked Han to leave the light of the lamp on, in a way darkness wouldn’t be allowed in their chamber that night, he apprehensively nodded at the nature of her request.

When Leia asked Han to lie next to her and hold her hand — just hold her hand, nothing more visceral than holding her hand — he did as he was told with a tight ache coming from his heart.

He did nothing further, he said nothing more. He lied by her side, looking at her without making her uncomfortable, memorizing her every  _ trait _ , and he didn’t disturb her. He held her hand, but he didn’t speak to her, or ask how she was doing, not until she had sorted everything that was going through her mind and found the strength to confide in him.

“I’m having a bad day.”

When she finally spoke, she had her eyes closed, but Han — Han knew she wasn’t asleep. Her rigid grip around his hand and the tension of her body language told him as much. Yet, she had been so still and so silent that anybody who didn’t  _ know  _ her would have mistaken her for asleep. 

“I know,” he gently said, out of words because — what else could he say that wouldn’t diminish her feelings? What else could he say that would magically fix her?

Those words — they didn’t exist. They both knew as much. 

“Everything… It all happened so fast. I can barely process how I went from having a panic attack in front of you all to being here, in the safety of our privacy.”

He nodded, giving her hand a strong squeeze. He already knew  _ exactly  _ what had happened in between; Luke had been in shambles as they traveled from the Senate complex back to the secret rebel base, and although Han would have preferred to hear the story from Leia’s perspective first, he hadn’t had the heart to silence him and his distress. After all, Padmé and Leia were his confiders, and when he couldn’t go to either of them — Han was happy to play the part.

And Han  _ cared  _ for Luke; he just didn’t care in the same amount as he cared for Leia. However, part of him was relieved that he already knew, when the alternative was waiting for Leia to open up and — she didn’t often do that.

“Everything is just so…  _ Fucked up _ .”

Leia wasn’t the one to casually curse; her choice of words was a perfect description of her state of mind, and they worried Han more than he already was.

“I know, sweetheart.”

Leia anxiously nodded, and at last opened her eyes to look at him. The image of him there, next to her, made her warm, and she pursued her lips in what was supposed to be a smile — but she failed, she  _ knew  _ she failed to smile. 

“I love you,” she said simply. She couldn’t remember the last time she had said she loved him, and it wasn’t fair, because Han was doing  _ everything  _ for her, and she struggled to do the least to appease his own feelings. “I love you so much.” 

“Leia,” his tone was a little crispy, so very unlike the predictable behavior of someone who had just been told they were loved. “You’re not under any obligation here. You’re not contracted to express your affection for me, because you don’t  _ owe  _ me anything.”

“But I do, Han,” Leia said quietly, “I owe you so much. You do so much for me and… And I’m so caught up in my own personal hell that I rarely ever do anything for you.”

“You’re wrong, Leia,” he interfered, “I—I was  _ lost  _ before you came into my life. And now, every day I look at you, and I know that I’m  _ found. _ ”

She teared up, and raised her spare hand to cup his cheek, gently brushing her thumb against his skin.

“I don’t understand why everything is so hard now,” she confessed, her words struggling to leave her lips. “The war is over. The war was  _ won _ . Everything that I gave my life for came through. Why isn’t it enough, Han? Why can’t I be  _ happy  _ again?”

He knew those questions to be rhetorical; still, it pained him enough to know he couldn’t give her an answer, and — it hurt him to know he couldn’t magically make her happy again. That was all he wanted.

She sighed, barely giving him the time to say anything as she pulled her hand back to herself and broke eye contact. She was surprised at herself for managing to sustain it for so long.

“Luke—Luke told you what happened, didn’t he?”

“Yeah,” he agreed softly. “I’m sorry, Leia. I didn’t want him to walk over you, but he was so enraged that I didn’t have the heart to stop him.”

“It’s okay, I think,” she said. “Luke has got a heart of gold. He’s so sweet and pure and buoyant and — and I want to preserve that on him. I don’t want him to hurt, and what happened today, even though it wasn’t directly aimed at him,  _ hurt  _ him, more than he’s letting on, because he is also troubled by the inherent darkness in the both of us. It’s a good thing that he came to you, when… When Padmé and I were inaccessible to him.”

“It’s also hurting you more than you’re letting on, Leia _ , _ ” he gently told her.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think it is,” she confessed, hastily running her free hand against her eyes. “I… I didn’t tell you why I had to go back into the Senate.”

He simply shook his head, waiting.

“Well…” she closed her eyes again, “I don’t have a single heirloom from Alderaan. Not from the planet, not from the Royal House, not from my family, and… And I was so desperate to remember, Han. I  _ am  _ so desperate to remember. I don’t want to forget.”

“You won’t forget,” he assured, watching with a heavy heart a single tear ran down her cheek. “Come on, Alderaan means everything to you. You don’t forget stuff that you love.”

Leia chewed on her lip. Han was right about so much — why couldn’t he be right about that as well?

“Time always forgets,” she gravely said. “I realized, today, that I’ve started to forget their faces. I know it’s barely been four years, but… The sensations are still there, yet their faces aren’t as clear as they used to be.”

Han breathed in heavily. He didn’t need to think too much to understand she was talking about her parents.

“I guess — I guess I’ve spent such a big part of these past four years trying to  _ forget,  _ trying to bury their memory so it wouldn’t hurt, that I started to forget even the things I want to remember,” a choked laugh, “It’s so fucking ironic — there is  _ so  _ much that I want to forget, all this—this trauma that I’ve endured that haunts me all the time, but I can’t remember the faces of my parents? I can’t remember the way the two people that  _ saved  _ me laughed? I bet the universe is looking down on me and having a big laugh.”

He remained still; there was so much,  _ so much  _ that he wanted to say in attempts to bring comfort, but she was  _ talking,  _ and he was terrified that any interruption would bring her silence again.

“I went to my father’s old office in the Senate,” she said with an unusual amount of difficulty. “I didn’t want to go there, I wasn’t ready to face all the good and bad memories that that place would bring me, but… I don’t have a single heirloom from home, Han. I know that sounds stupid compared to everything that has been lost, but I just wanted something from my past, the  _ good  _ part of my past, to hold on to and find strength there.”

“It’s not stupid,” he murmured, so softly he wasn’t sure she had heard him.

And even if she did, she ignored him. “I know my father kept a picture of us in his office. Not a picture of the Royal House of Alderaan, just a picture of… Of us.  _ Our family,  _ when we were just that. I needed that picture, I needed it more than air to breathe.”

Leia rarely spoke in hyperboles, so to hear so profoundly speak of a material object — Han understood how much it meant to her.

“I don’t recall the last time something physical brought me so much joy. Just a picture of me and my parents, right after the festivities of my sixteenth name day had ended and… And we were privately celebrating, just the three of us, without any of that extravaganza or the social demands of our royal figures. I looked so happy,  _ so happy,  _ and I don’t recall the last time that feelings of happiness came to me so genuinely and guilt-free. But today, when I held that picture in my hands and remembered every little aspect of their faces… I was overwhelmed, but it also brought me so much joy. I don’t understand why nothing good can ever last.”

He frowned and was compelled to ask, “Where is the picture now?” because she was ought to hold tight to something that made her so happy, and he hadn’t seen it anywhere.

“I broke it,” she replied so coldly, and it was so out of character because her every sentence had been carried by the warmth of her emotions. “I ran into Threepio and he gave me such a startle that it simply slipped from my fingers. And — it wasn’t even Threepio’s fault, it was all me. Just me, acting so irrationally that I lost my last connection to Alderaan, and to the home that Alderaan so selflessly gave me. I don’t want to say that it isn’t fair, because I  _ hate  _ saying that when the concept of fairness itself is biased, but… It’s not fair, Han. It—It’s not.”

“There’s nothing wrong with feeling that way,” Han tried to ease her sentiments. “So many bad things have happened to you, and damn it, Leia, of course it’s not fair. You didn’t deserve anything of that.”

Trying to hold her composure before she broke into sobs, Leia brought his hand to her lips and kissed him, knuckle after knuckle. One kiss for every silent teardrop that escaped the corner of her eyes, like she was trying to replace something bad for something good.

She liked to believe it would work.

She snuggled his hand to her and gently placed it under her head, using it as a second pillow; he gently brushed his fingers amidst her hair. “I guess… Everything happened so fast, Han. It was pain after pain, and I guess that’s why Padmé’s comment is bothering me so much.”

She took a deep breath and forced herself to look at him again.

“I  _ miss  _ my family, I miss being part of a family. I miss that unconditional love that would never end. I know it's childish behavior to worship one’s parents, but… My parents meant  _ everything  _ to me. They saved me when I was all alone in the world, unable to fetch for myself, and they gave me everything. Growing up as a princess was never easy, but it never mattered because I had their love and their protection. They were always there for me, Han, and then… they  _ weren’t,  _ and it was so unexpected that I don’t think I ever allowed myself to feel the hollow that their death brought me.”

Her voice started to falter.

“I had everything, and then… I had  _ nothing _ . I have nothing.”

He watched quietly as her lip quivered as she tried to keep herself from crying. He wanted nothing more than to tug her in his arms, but he wouldn’t betray her request of keeping his distance, not until she asked.

“Today, I am overwhelmed with feelings of longing for home, and missing my parents. I think… I think that’s why Padmé’s blasted remark hurt so much, because… Because I  _ miss  _ that sensation. I miss my mother, and the warmth and safety she always brought me. So when Padmé compared me to  _ him,  _ my father who hurt me in every way that he knew how… it hurt more than it should have. I want her to — to  _ love  _ me, to see me for who I am, not for my bloodline, and that’s not fair because I have never done anything for her, or for our relationship, that would give her any reason for her to care for me. Above all, it’s not fair to Luke. Luke wants this so badly, and he  _ deserves  _ it. He deserves the mother that he never had growing up, and that he has relentlessly cherished ever since she came back to his life. Luke deserves this, and he feels like he must take my side when there aren’t sides to take, because it was just a stupid comment and nothing,  _ nothing  _ that I haven’t thought myself, and yet I feel  _ betrayed  _ that my  _ mother  _ said that, and I irrationally want Luke to be  _ on  _ my side. God, why am I such a horrible person?”

“Leia.  _ Leia, _ ” his voice was harsh; he wasn’t mean, however, he was firm. “You’re not a horrible person. Where did you get that from?!” He didn’t allow her the chance to reply, although her lips slightly parted as she intended to start speaking, “You’re  _ not _ . And don’t give me the whole ‘ _ I destroyed Alderaan’  _ crap because you  _ know  _ that that wasn’t your fault, and neither does it make you a bad person. I’m sorry, Leia, I won’t have you saying nonsense like this, because the stuff we say here,” he pointed to her lips, and then placed his hand over her heart, “Is believed  _ here _ . You’re not a horrible person, and that’s the end of the story. So what if you’re feeling a little selfish? I think you deserve it after spending the last four years thinking of everyone but yourself.”

Leia was so stunned by the sudden change in his behavior that she became reactionless. She could only stare at him with wide eyes and lips agape.

“You’re not at fault for wanting a family, for wanting to be loved,” Han continued, “The only person wrong today was Padmé, who made a stupid joke about matters that bother you. And even so, she’s not really at fault here, because it was a joke and you weren’t meant to hear it. She’s so desperate for you, she wants nothing more than a loving family, and she can’t be blamed for that either.”

“I don’t blame her, I swear I don’t,” she wailed, trying to convince herself as she tried to convince him. “After everything that she’s been through, I can’t hold it against her that she fears her daughter might follow her husband’s steps, and ever since she came back she’s been so — so considerate and gentle and mindful of my issues. I’m just… I am  _ sad  _ that Luke got back everything that he lost, that he  _ wished  _ for, and I’m stuck in this perpetual state of grief that I  _ can’t  _ escape. No matter how much I wish, Alderaan nor my family will come back to me. And I—I’m sad, Han. All the time, I’m… sad.”

He watched without being able to breathe as her tears devolved into small, quiet sobs.

“Can you… Can you hold me?” Leia shyly asked, “I just want you to hold me.”

Without uttering a sound, Han came nearer her and pulled her into his arms. He brought her to his chest and buried his nose amidst her hair, while she sobbed and held tightly the fabric of his shirt. He just let her be, because —  _ god,  _ she so seldomly allowed herself to be that she  _ needed  _ this.

All he could do was to hold her tight and offer her the warmth of his comfort, praying,  _ just praying  _ that, one day, it would be enough.

They didn’t know for how long Leia stayed there, letting it all out. Until she was out of tears, until she was out of memories to cry for, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, hiding her face in the curve of his shoulder. She murmured incomprehensible words, and he kissed the top of her head, and even though she stopped moving, content enough to breathe in his smell and feel his presence next to her, Han knew that it took her long to fall asleep.

And even when she did, he knew that her slumber wouldn’t be peaceful that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, do leave me some feedback. your comments are the solemn reason I'm still here :)


	28. Twenty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is really sweet, i really like it!!

Han was so focused on his self-assigned task of guarding Leia in her slumber that he evidently jumped when the soft sound of knocks echoed throughout the room.

Then, he essentially stopped breathing as Leia deeply exhaled and shifted next to him — and he couldn’t tell whether it had been the sound of knocks or his body tensing up that had disturbed her in her sleep.

Still, she did not open her eyes. She purred into the collar of his short, and clung tighter onto him, ready to fall back asleep.

“Hmmm. Han?”

“Shh, shh,” he whispered into her hair, cocooning her in his embrace until her head was lying over the pillow, instead of his shoulder where it had previously been. “Go back to sleep, Leia.”

“Hmmm,” she grunted, and then murmured a few other words that Han couldn’t decipher in her state of semi-consciousness. “‘kay.”

He planted his lips against her forehead and left them there for a few seconds. He waited, and it didn’t take long for her breathing to reach a calm, steady pattern again, and he finally let go of her, gingerly getting out of bed.

He said several cuss words in his mind as he found his shoes and trailed towards the door. He didn’t care if the galaxy was collapsing, or if the political arena had been thrown upside down; whoever was on the other side of the door, he would them to kindly fuck off because Leia was sleeping, and nobody had the right to disturb her in her privacy—

Han should have been surprised to find Padmé there. He wasn’t; he merely sighed, looking down on her as the door closed again behind him and he never realized until that moment how much Leia looked like Padmé, with her small stature, her pale skin, and those big sad eyes that had seen too much, _too much._

Tiredly, he leaned against the door and just blurted it out, “What do you want, Padmé?”

“Is Leia there?” Padmé asked the obvious; of course Leia was there — Han wouldn’t be lingering around the place without her. “I need to talk to her.”

Han didn’t much as move a muscle. “She’s _asleep,_ Padmé. It’s the middle of the night, what did you expect?”

Padmé tilted her head, looking at him funnily. “It’s barely past 10, Han.”

He frowned; was that true? Because it seemed like hours that he had been keeping vigil of Leia in slumber, ready to take action in case she started having nightmares. But then again, it _made sense,_ because Leia had stated she was having a bad day and she wasn’t one to peacefully sleep throughout the entire night when she was having bad days. Neither did he remember at what time they had gone to bed; it was as soon as they had gotten back, that much he was sure of, but he had been so worried about her that he never once bothered to check the time.

“Oh,” was all he managed to say. It didn’t matter, he didn’t need to say anything else; he had already made it clear that Leia wasn’t available, he was just waiting for Padmé to kindly excuse herself — he wasn’t about to go wake Leia up for chitchats, if that was what Padmé expected of him.

Instead, she sighed in her place.

“Would you mind grabbing some coffee with me?” Padmé asked mildly. “My treat.”

A little dazed, Han made a face. “I’m pretty sure they don’t charge for meals around here.”

She tried to laugh, but her laugh was hollow. 

Han crossed his arms. “Sorry, can’t. Gotta stay with Leia.”

“I thought you said she is sleeping.”

“She _is_ ,” he offered her a pointed glare, “Did you use to leave Anakin completely alone when he was having a bad day?”

“Anakin didn’t tend to let me in when he _was_ having a bad day,” Padmé lamented, and the sudden look on Han’s face told her that he knew exactly what that was like.

“I thought you knew better than to compare Leia to Anakin by now,” he snapped, a little too harshly.

“You made the comparison yourself, I just stated a fact from my marriage,” she pointed out, and Han sighed in defeat. “Also, this time I am _certain_ she didn’t hear me.”

Han rolled his eyes. “ _Fine._ But one coffee and that’s it. I need to come back, in case she needs me.”

Padmé could only smile at how profoundly he cared for her daughter before they started walking side by side towards the cantina.

“Han,” she said his name quietly, “How… How is she?”

“As well as you’d expect her to be.”

Padmé swallowed uncomfortably, “Well… I don’t really expect her to be well.”

Han buried his hands into the pockets of his pants and left the rest up for interpretation.

“Did Leia—”

“Look, Padmé,” Han interrupted before her question was out. “I’m not gonna discuss Leia with you, okay? I’m not gonna rat out on her, no matter how good either of our intentions is. I won’t betray Leia’s confidence by breaking her trust in me and telling you stuff of _her_ heart. No, if you wanna talk about Leia, then you gotta go to Leia yourself.”

Embarrassed, Padmé nodded. “What if Leia doesn’t want to talk to me?!”

“Then you’ll respect her, and you’ll stay away,” he harshly instructed. “Don’t go bothering her if she doesn’t want you around.”

Looking down, Padmé agreed. “Okay.”

“O—Okay…?” Han frowned; he was expecting at least _some_ resistance from Padmé’s end. “You’re not gonna try and argue with me?”

Padmé eyed him suspiciously, “I take it that it’s not often that people _listen_ to you.”

He grimaced. “I was afraid that it might run in the family.”

She chuckled softly. “No, Han. Amongst us, you’re the one that knows Leia the better. If you say I shouldn’t go to her unless she explicitly says that she wants me there, then I’ll trust your judgment.”

“Good,” he gave himself a firm nod. “Look, Padmé, Leia is just trying the best she can. And you…”

“I make it harder, I understand,” she lamented, “Especially when situations like today… _happen._ ”

“Yeah. Yeah,” he concurred and dropped himself into the first empty bench he saw at the cafeteria. Padmé took the seat in front of him — neither of them really cared for coffee.

“I take full responsibility for what happened today, and I will never forgive myself for what I said,” Padmé said with a strong face. “I’m ready to do whatever it takes to make amends with Leia —however… I have no idea how to even start.”

Sloppily, Han leaned back. “You shouldn't.”

“What?!”

“Never forgive yourself, I mean,” he shrugged. “What happened today was the result of lots of accumulated tension and trauma, both regarding your comment and Leia’s response. The war — it fucked up everybody a little in the head, you know? The _Empire_ is the one to blame. We’re all just trying our best with what was left of us.”

Her eyes glowed. “Is that what Leia thinks?”

He gave her a look. “Told you I wouldn’t be discussing Leia with you.”

Padmé sighed, waving a gesture of agreement. “Luke… Luke is quite heartbroken. Furious, on Leia’s behalf.”

“Luke is a sweet kid,” Han rambled. “He’ll come around.”

“I appreciate how much he’s looking after Leia,” Padmé admitted, “I just hate that I put him in that position.”

“I get that,” he said, “However, feeling sorry for yourself and pitiful of your deeds won’t make shit right again.”

She bit down on her lips — she wasn’t trying to sound like that _at all_.

“What should I do, then?”

“No idea,” he blurted out. “You should ask Leia. She’s the clever, overly rational one.”

Padmé placed her hands in front of her lips to suppress her gentle grin.

“Leia is a diplomat — a _politician,_ ” she reminded him. “It’s her job description to be ‘overly rational,’” she made quotation marks in the air.

“Nah,” he quickly dismissed her analysis. “She does it because she’s afraid of what might happen if she allows herself to _feel_.”

She perked up her eyebrows, “I thought you weren’t discussing Leia.”

And Han smugly smirked at her, like she had just passed the test he had set up for her — and Padmé didn’t know whether to beam at it or not.

“Leia is very lucky, you know,” she said, “I’m glad she can rely on you.”

With his lips compressed, he shook his head. “ _I’m_ the lucky one.”

Padmé chuckled lightly, half a smile stamped across her face as she looked at him intensely.

Which, of course, was all it took to make the smuggler uncomfortable. 

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“It’s just occurred to me,” Padmé said, “That I know _nothing_ about you. Virtually, you don’t exist to me outside of your kinship to the twins, and that’s a little selfish of me.”

Han shot his shoulders up and down. Essentially, there wasn’t much to him that existed outside of his relationships with Leia and Luke, in a sense that he was _nothing_ without them. They brought the best of him, and Han wasn’t all that proud of his past.

“What do you wanna know?”

“Hm, _everything,_ ” she pointed out, “I’d like to have some insight on the guy that’s sleeping with my daughter.”

He simpered at that description of him. He wouldn’t mind going down on history as the man that Princess Leia fell in love with; after all, _she_ was the best part of him. 

“Ask away. I’m an open book.”

“Okay,” she clasped her hands together, studying him intently. “Well, for starters, where do you come from?”

“Corellia.”

“Corellia is a nice planet,” she replied coolly, passing on what she had heard — she had never been to the planet herself. “Do you go there often?”

“Nah,” he waved it off, “It’s just the place I was born in. It doesn’t mean anything other than that.”

Padmé eyed him warily.

“I don’t mean that to undermine Leia’s own relationship with her homeworld,” he quickly added, with a grim. “I’m well aware of how much it affects her, on a daily basis, to not have a place to call her _own,_ and it’s not my intention to be judgmental of her grief, or to imply that her grief is frivolous. Alderaan is her home, Alderaan _welcomed_ her when the whole galaxy turned on her when she was barely one day old and accepted her as their own, as the heir to their throne when she didn’t have royal blood when she was _no one_. I just — I don’t have any emotional connection to Corellia, is all. It was the place where I grew up in, and it was the place that I grew out of.”

He let out a tired breath.

“And, in the end, Corellia is still _there_.”

Padmé smiled tenderly at him; from a bystander point of view, she didn’t need much to know how much Han Solo cared for the princess. However, hearing him delve into his concern for Leia — it brought her warmth, to know that her daughter was loved even more than Padmé herself once was.

_After all, Han would never turn on Leia and try to kill her._ She was quick to discard that thought, though.

“I wasn’t thinking that,” she reassured, “Still, it appeases me to know that your love for Leia isn’t superficial. That you deeply care for her anguish, and don’t make her feel guilty for the weight of her grief.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” Han scoffed. “Leia is a pro in doing that herself.”

Padmé made a pained expression almost instantaneously. She understood very well that Han’s sardonic behavior came from a place that he was _exhausted_ from trying to make Leia see things more clearly.

“Grief is a powerful thing, Han,” she said, passing on the unwished-for wisdom that she’d gotten across her years of exile. “Especially when on such a wide scale. You — _we_ — need to respect her pacing. We can’t force her into healing from her grief _too fast._ It would only bring her more harm.”

“I know that,” Han said, not defensive of himself, but — somber. “I assume you, more than anyone, knows what it’s like to see your loved ones hurting, while knowing there’s nothing you can do to ease their pain.”

Padmé nodded sadly; her entire pregnancy she had struggled with Anakin’s nightmares, with his anguish of losing both her and their baby, so that he would bring his own fall down on himself in attempts of saving them — only to lose them anyway. And still, it was worse than that, because Anakin anguished over things that could happen, whereas Leia’s grief was tangible, justified. 

“Have you ever lost someone that meant so much to you that the pain of your grief stole your breath away?”

Her question, in the end, had been more intimate than their relationship allowed at that moment. _They were still strangers to each other_ , coexisting only for Leia and Luke. Still, she gazed at him intently; she wanted to know more about Han, she wanted to establish some sort of rapport with him that didn’t rely exclusively on their affiliation to Leia. 

“My Ma,” he replied absently, a little caught off in memories of the past. He didn’t mind the question, nor believed Padmé to be out of her rights to try to get to know him; still, reliving the past brought him a certain uneasiness that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. “It happened a long time ago, though.”

“Doesn’t mean it ever stops hurting.”

“No. I guess not,” he agreed with a sheepish grin. “It does get easier, though.”

Padmé didn’t quite agree with him. She thought of Anakin, she thought of her family back in Naboo, she thought of her unborn babies — the pain of losing them would never leave her, she had merely learned how to thrive amidst her grief, a way to make good of something bad.

“How did you lose her?”

She wasn’t trying to exploit Han, or get a detailed autobiography of his past for the sake of her curiosity; no, she just wanted to _know_ him, and she trusted Han enough to tell her off if she crossed a line.

“She became very sick, and we didn’t have the means to get her the medical attention she needed,” she spoke gravely, and then chuckled to himself. “She was a very tough girl. She could have lived forever, if only… If only we had been born _right._ If we hadn’t been cursed with the poverty of birth.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t kill her. Or stole our money — whatever money we might have had,” he shrugged. “It’s the course of life, isn’t it? Some things — aren’t meant to be.”

Padmé rested her head on the palm of her hand, her elbow leaned into the table setting them both apart. She studied him vigorously, even though Han had broken eye contact somewhere amidst his succinct story.

“Do you really believe that?” she asked, “I mean, yes, maybe, some things _are_ meant to be, but others… They happen, even if they shouldn’t.”

He perked up one of his brows. “Alderaan?”

“A young child losing his mother,” she quipped quietly.

“They happen either way.”

With a small nod of concession, Padmé accepted his views.

“How old were you?”

“Small,” he said casually, “Don’t know. Probably seven or eight. Don’t really remember.”

“Did your father look after you, once your mother passed away?”

“Nah. My old man was never really in the picture,” he simply threw that piece of information out, not caring — at all — about the man he was supposed to love and cherish. “He wasn’t — he wasn’t a good _man._ Didn’t treat my Ma right. I know that he fixed ships for a living, and always talked about how much he wished to take off aboard one of those ships and see the stars. I guess that’s what he did, in the end. Left without saying goodbye. I have no idea whatever happened to him.”

She opened her lips to pay her condolences once more, but stopped short upon the realization that he didn’t want to hear that — neither would it make any difference.

“It must have been hard, then, to be all alone in the world when you were only a child,” Padmé threaded carefully, “Barely able to fetch for yourself.”

“I managed,” he said, and then — his trademark smirk. “I _survived_.”

With her lips pressed in a thin line, she agreed. After all, that was the most important thing of it all — to survive to live another day, while honoring one’s past but keeping their heads away, focusing on the prospect of a future.

Because any future at all was better than no future at all.

“I don’t really remember my Ma,” he confessed, so unexpectedly that Padmé looked abashed. “I know that I loved her, I know that she loved _me._ I remember how awful it was when she died, and I had no alternative than to live on the streets, surviving out of the pockets of others,” out of respect for _monarchy,_ he didn’t specify whether people took pity on him and gave him credits or if he downright survived from pickpocketing — although he felt like Padmé wouldn’t be the one to judge. “But — I thrived. Somehow, I _thrived._ ”

She wanted to smile, but she couldn’t tell whether it was safe to smile. “Your mother — she would have been proud of you.”

“Nah,” he said with half a smirk, “I became everything she _repulsed._ A lowlife criminal, a smuggler. I joined the fucking Imperial Academy, for Sith’s sake, when she stood for everything that the Empire _didn’t._ And the worst of all — for the majority of my life, I didn’t care about anyone but myself. I was ready to let someone _die_ so long as I lived, even if I knew that wasn’t the right thing to do. She would be so disappointed in me, I… I became my _dad_.”

Although he was looking directly at Padmé again, his mind had drifted off to the day he first met Luke and Leia, and — and he reminisced with sorrow how he was ready to let Leia _die,_ after being tortured and forced to witness the destruction of Alderaan, wasn’t it for the promise of a big reward. He couldn’t comprehend how Leia had managed to forgive him for that, when he would never forgive himself.

“I _think,_ Han,” Padmé brought him back with her sharp voice, “That if you really were this bad person, you wouldn’t be agonizing over your past. Sure, you’ve made bad choices, but who hasn’t? The important is making your past right, the important is to _be_ better. And that’s how I see you. Someone who tries to make amends for your past by being the best person that you now know how to be. For that, I think you’re a very brave person. It’s always easier to cower, and you refuse to do just that.”

From the way his face fell, Padmé knew she had succeeded in making him uncomfortable with her analysis. So long as he listened to what she had to say — she didn’t _care._

“Would you tell Vader that?”

The question took her by surprise, and she couldn’t decide whether his question had been genuine or he was merely projecting something that Leia would say, in an attempt to get the spotlight away from him.

“I don’t know,” she confessed lightly. “Vader — _and_ Anakin — are both dead.”

He crossed his arms. “He was a very bad guy.”

She breathed in heavily; as if she needed to be reminded of _that_. “I understand that he hurt Leia—”

“He hurt _all_ of us,” Han interfered a little angrily, and she realized — she had never seen him angry before. “Leia’s torment over her bloodline to him isn’t misplaced. Vader is a _monster_ , and he hurt all of us — just because he could.”

He spoke his words in whispers, wary of any prying ears, although the cantina was so empty there was barely any living soul there. In return, Padmé tensed up in her seat, her eyes wild with the piece of information that had just been ruthlessly thrown at her — and she didn’t know how to properly react.

Not because she didn’t know how to cope with it — she was quite conscious of all the evil that Darth Vader was capable of. However, hearing about it and being told directly that somebody she _knew_ suffered under his hands remained on opposite sides of the spectrum.

She realized, at that moment, that she didn’t feel _good._ Even so, she felt bad about her own response, because that was not her story to writhe with. 

“Han—”

“It’s beyond the point. It’s well in the past, no point in gushing over it,” he simply wrote it off. _He shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place._

“You’re wrong,” Padmé said hoarsely. “If Vader hurt you, and you’re struggling with your trauma, you have to _speak up._ You have to, Han, and you know it more than anybody, because you see with your own eyes what Leia’s noncompliance to her past does to _her._ If you’re struggling, Han, you have to say it now, so we can get you the help you need. There’s nothing shameful about seeking help.”

“I’m not, okay? I’m _not_ ,” his voice was steady and firm, and he meant it. His past was no more than that — the past. Then, he sighed, “But that’s the thing. What Vader did to me — he only did it because he knew it would hurt Luke. And Leia.”

Padmé became still, afraid of what she might come to learn.

Han exhaled loudly in defeat. “Vader wanted Luke, so he tracked down Leia and me, and captured us. He knew the only way to make Luke come to him would be to hurt his friends, because — Leia and I are his greatest weakness, you know? He will always choose our welfare over his, and… Vader _knew_ that, and he exploited this — this _nobility_ of his, because it would work. It _worked_.”

She pulled her hands to her lab, starting to pick on her own skin, anxiously. She was blunt in her question, because no eloquence would undo what had been done, “What did he do to you, Han?”

He grimaced a little; not at her, but at the prospect of not so pleasant memories flooding his memories, when he thought he was _past_ them. Well, he still believed he was — didn’t mean that they didn’t bother him, though. 

“He tortured me,” he tried to sound as listless as he could. Only Padmé could tell whether he had succeeded. “For no other reason other than he _could._ Didn’t even ask me questions, he just wanted to hear me scream. Maybe Luke would have heard them from the other side of the galaxy, I don’t know. Of course, what he did to me doesn’t even compare to the stuff he’s done to Luke and Leia themselves. It was still unpleasant to go through it, though.”

Padmé forced her emotions back inside of her; it didn’t matter if she didn’t know Han to an extent — he was _family_ , and her heart ached for the things that the man she had fallen in love with did to _her_ family.

“It’s not a contest, Han,” she said softly. “Trauma is still trauma.”

“Yeah, well,” he breathed in and breathed out. “As I said, that stuff doesn’t bother me. Not really, wasn’t the first time I experienced physical pain, probably won’t be the last.”

“But…?”

“ _But_ ,” he offered her a pointed glance, “It bothers that Vader tortured me to use me as bait for Luke, and… And that he used my torture against Leia, trying to get her to talk. Catching two birds with a stone, you know? To have Luke on his way and maybe learn a thing or two about the rebellion. He already knew that inflicting her pain wouldn’t work, so maybe she would cower if she saw those she cared for being hurt in front of her.

“Once again, Vader underestimated her. Leia is tougher than she looks.”

A sick excuse of a smile touched her lips, but it didn’t last very long. “She blames herself, though.”

Han laughed ironically. “Leia tends to believe she’s responsible for every misdeed of the galaxy. She thinks she needs to carry the burden of Vader’s wrongs.”

She joined him in his snicker, although it was a sad one. 

“Can I… Can I ask you something?”

He shrugged; there wasn’t that much more to know about him, anyway.

“I… I’ve heard stories, whispers, all uncorroborated, but — about you being frozen in carbonite.”

“No secret there. That much did happen.”

Nervously, she nodded. “How did you—”

Han interrupted her with a simple shook of the head. “I was frozen in carbonite, and decorated some crime lord’s wall for a few months. The rest — the rest is Leia’s story, and she’s entitled to tell you it on her own terms.”

Padmé bowed respectfully.

“Listen, Padmé,” for the first time, Han leaned back forward, almost like the conversation had _just_ taken a serious turn. “The stuff I’ve told you — is _my_ stuff. I don’t mind talking about them, they don’t make me squeamish. However, this is _me,_ Han Solo, and I do what I please with the things that happened to me. Leia has that right, too. Her stories, even though they entwine with mine, and Luke’s — she’s allowed to tell them on her own accord, to _whom_ she wants to know. Don’t go pestering her about this stuff, Padmé. If she wants you to know, she’ll come to you. If she doesn’t…”

“…I’ll have to love her enough to let it go.”

“Yup,” he curtsied, “Doesn’t mean you can’t support her, though. Not only you’re her ‘mother’, but you’re also a woman, and… Leia needs that, that kind of female solidarity. I can’t offer her that, _Luke_ can’t offer her that, but… But you _can._ Just let her know she’s not alone, from time to time.”

Padmé listened sagely, recognizing the importance of having a perspective from the person that knew Leia the most. 

“Will she listen?”

Savvy, Han winked at her. “Why don’t you learn that for yourself?”

In return, Padmé glared at him, “It seems to me that you _know_ the answer and is withholding it from me.”

Han chuckled, repeating, “Why don’t you learn _that_ for yourself as well?!”

Good heartedly, Padmé rolled her eyes at him — and that simple movement was about the most important aspect she had in common with Leia.

“Thank you for talking with me, Han,” she said earnestly. “I know you’d rather be with Leia right now.”

He dismissed her gratitude with a sheepish gesture. “It’s not a matter of _preferring_ one over the other. I don’t want Leia to think she is alone. I need her to know that she’s got _me_.”

She smiled tenderly, an unfamiliar longing of being romantically loved again gingerly washing over her heart. She refused to tap it, and it went away all too fast.

“Leia knows you love her,” she said.

Han buffed. From one side, he had Luke telling him he didn’t tell Leia enough that he loved her. from the other, Padmé was assuring him that Leia already knew. 

So, to be safe, he chose to reply, “Telling your loved ones how much you love them is never an abundance.” 

“I guess that’s right,” she shrugged, leaning back on her seat, expecting Han to walk out on her, determined to go _be_ with Leia. When he stayed put, she was as surprised as when she heard of his personal history, which forced her to ask, “I thought you were going back to Leia?”

“Yeah. In a bit,” he spoke distractedly, having ended visual contact once again. “Speaking of this stuff leaves me a little on edge. Don’t want to barge in there and have her sense all these disdainful feelings coming from me. I don’t want to disturb her, she needs to sleep.”

Padmé frowned, uncertain whether Han was confessing to her or simply venting. And she didn’t know what to do with that piece of information rather than offer her insight, “Han. A relationship, a _healthy_ relationship isn’t one-sided. You need to rely on her as much as she relies on you.”

“I _do_ rely on her, Padmé,” he said a little annoyedly. “I am — I’m _nothing_ without her. She’s like oxygen, you get? Without her, I can’t breathe. But being in a relationship also demands that I pick which battles to fight. Right now, Leia is in the middle of the battlefield. She needs to be okay again before I get to bring my own battles to her.”

Although Padmé didn’t exactly agree with his perspective, she respected him enough to let it go. After all, he did only have Leia’s best interest in mind, and she cherished him for it.

“Han?”

“Hmm,” he absently hummed. “What?”

“How do you help Leia?”

His eyes sharply returned to her, and he opened his mouth to protest.

“I know better than to ask you to discuss Leia,” she quickly raised both her hands up before he snapped at her. “So I’m discussing _you._ How do _you_ help Leia, because she asked for our help and I — I have no idea what to do.”

He watched her cautiously. “Come on. That’s not _fair._ You’re putting me on a tight spot here.”

Sighing, she gave up and looked down on herself. “That’s assuming she even still — _wants_ — my help.”

“You’re not the enemy,” Han reminded her. “You might have wronged her, yes. You might have deeply hurt her, yes. Still — you’re not the enemy.”

Padmé pressed her hands to her thighs anxiously. “Does she still think that way?”

“She didn’t _tell_ me that bluntly,” he said, “Still. Leia only has one enemy. Trust me, you can’t even _compare_.”

She snorted sardonically; the comic relief did not make her feel better, though. “I’m afraid that I might have lost her. I fear that I might have broken something that can’t be repaired.”

“ _Now_ I know where Luke takes his histrionics from.”

Padmé puffed. “I’m afraid that’s all Anakin.”

“Yikes.”

She rolled her eyes again, well aware Han meant that in his most affectionate way. 

“There’s so much of Anakin in them. In both of them,” she confessed lightly. “I see it every day. Luke is a spinning image of his father, physically, but he’s also got Anakin’s wits and Anakin’s charm — and, admittedly, Anakin’s histrionics. But Leia… Leia’s got Anakin’s _heart._ And I know it would break her heart to know that, I _know_ it would, but… she does. She _does._ Her heart is full of passion, it burns with the fury of injustice and it blazes with compassion for the pain of others. Because… She hurts too deeply, but her pain thrives her into moving entire worlds, so long as she gets to see someone smile the smile that was stolen from her. Believe it or not, that — that’s all Anakin.”

“You’re right,” Han spoke hoarsely. “It would break her heart.”

“I won’t tell her, Han,” Padmé clarified. “I understand very well that some words hurt infinitely more than physical aggression. My words today have already wounded her enough. I’ll do my best to never, _never_ deliberately hurt her again. You have my word.”

“It’s not me you should be promising that too,” Han murmured. “Tell _her_ that. Tell Luke that, so he will stop hovering over Leia so bluntly. That’s the only way you’ll make amends for your mistakes.”

“What if they can’t find it in their hearts to forgive me?”

“Luke forgave _Vader_.”

“Vader never betrayed his sister like that.”

Han condescendingly tilted his head. “Yeah, he did.”

“Okay, fine,” Padmé spat, “But Vader didn’t know who Leia was, and mostly — Vader didn’t have a personal _bond_ to her.”

“Will you stop? The comparison isn’t pretty. It’s _petty_ ,” he accused. “You’re not Vader. Eventually, they will forgive you.”

Padmé angrily blew a puff of air between her lips. “How can you possibly know that?”

“Because, Padmé, maybe they already _have_ ,” Han snapped. “They might be hurt, they might feel angry and betrayed, but maybe they never _blamed_ you in the first place.”

Padmé stopped moving and, essentially, stopped breathing. 

“Maybe things will be different for a while,” he continued, “Heck, maybe things will never be the same again. Things _evolve_ , and that’s okay. We all must move forward, letting our past guide us but not _define_ us.”

She closed her eyes briefly.

“You think that’s possible?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, matter-of-factly. “Look at Luke. He’s the sweetest person you’ll ever know, and _not_ because of the stuff that happened to him. He chose to be kind amidst his sorrows, amidst the pain of knowing he’s the Devil’s son. Look at Leia, she’s the strongest person you’ll ever know, and not because of her past, because her past would make anyone in their sane conscience _give up_ . As breathtaking as it might be, they chose to make something from their pain. And don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to romanticize or glorify their pains — far from that. I want nothing more than to free Leia of her emotional pain. But I know for a fact that these are the people they _chose_ to be, not that their pasts shaped them into becoming.”

He paused to breathe, then added, “If you’ve seen the things that they did, if you’ve been through the stuff that they have and you let your past define you… You become bad. You become — _Vader._ Luke and Leia are anything but. They won’t turn you away, not for this.”

When Padmé dared to open her eyes again, they were filled with unshed tears. “Okay, I believe you. _I believe you_.”

“Good,” he nodded. “Because I’m always right.”

“Hmm,” she brushed the back of her hand against her eyes, not at all self-conscious — for some unfathomed reason, she was completely at ease next to him. “Luke and Leia might disagree with you there.”

“Luke and Leia are no more than _children_ ,” he jokingly accused, “Just because they’re loud, it doesn’t make them _right._ At all.”

Padmé choked a laugh.

“Thank you for sitting down with me for a while, Han,” she spoke from her heart. “I understand that, utmost, you will always be at Leia’s side, so it means a lot that you were willing to talk to me when I have hurt her, not once trying to make me feel guilty for what I’ve done. Mind you, I _do_ feel guilty about what happened, to an extent you wouldn’t possibly understand. But it’s nice, not to have your mistakes blatantly thrown at your face, but instead… Thoroughly discussed from a more philosophical standpoint.”

“Cheers,” he raised an invisible cup of coffee in the air. “You say that Leia is a lot like Anakin, but she’s got a lot of you in her too.”

Not really that interested, and maybe a lot more tired than she had been when she sought Han out, she simply leaned her head on her hand. “Yeah? How so?”

“Well. You both have this unnerving characteristic of thinking the weight of the world is over your shoulders,” he pointed out, “And I say that completely not from a philosophical standpoint.”

Padmé sneered, “I think I’m finally getting to see why the twins consider you to be the most annoying person they know.”

“And one considers me to be their best friend, and the other fell in love with me,” he smirked, “Don’t worry, _Mom_ , you can’t go wrong with me.”

She found herself laughing at him, a little sore that _he_ was the one calling her ‘mother’ — despite all the sarcasm behind his voice — when Leia had never done so and Luke had become hesitant to keep doing so. And yet, it didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would.

* * *

When Han returned to Leia’s chamber, he was meticulously careful not to make a sound. He went as far as taking off his boots before coming inside — to no avail.

The door hissed open and his immediate sight was of her, sitting on bed against a mountain of pillows.

“Ah,” he relentlessly groaned upon the realization that she was awake and, not caring anymore, dropped his boots to the floor with a thud. “Sorry.”

Leia frowned at him. She was already so squeezed into the corner that she didn’t even need to move to give him space. “Why are you apologizing?”

He fell to the bed with the same lack of mannerism that his shoes fell to the floor. “You’re awake.”

He was lying flat on his back, his eyes fixated on her jawline until she looked down on him. “Not your fault.”

He grimaced; _maybe_ she would have still been sleeping if only he hadn’t left her side. “You’re okay, Leia? I thought you would be sleeping.”

“I was,” she guaranteed. “Then, I woke up.”

Her answer didn’t make him feel better. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“I don’t know, actually,” she replied honestly, with a frown. “If I did, I don’t remember — which is a good thing, I believe. I just — woke up, and couldn’t fall back asleep. I tossed and turned for a while before giving up.”

“And you’ve just been staring at the wall ever since?”

“Hm,” she agreed with a frisky pout.

“You didn’t get up even to check one of your thousands of datapads?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t feel like working.”

With wide eyes, he straightened forward just to press his hand against her forehead. She laughed carefreely at him, before leaning down to capture his lips in hers.

Her kiss took him by surprise, but he embraced it anyway. Softly, tenderly, allowing her to take the lead. He cupped her cheeks with the palm of his hands and felt her skin wet under his thumbs — his heart skipped a beat inside his chest.

Han pulled back, worried, and found her big, brown eyes staring right into his soul. Her lips were swollen and shaped in a coy smile, and he realized her apple cheeks were wet for no other reason than residual tears.

“Are you sad?”

With her expression intact, she simply shot her shoulders up and down. “You’re here.”

His face, however, was serious, and — she didn’t exactly answer his question. “Those two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Wrinkling her nose, she teased, “I like to believe they are.”

For her sake, he allowed her to immerse herself in her fantasy.

She found herself lying between his legs, her back pressed to his torso and her lips glued to his collarbones, leaving there the promise of thousands of kisses to come.

“Why don’t you try going back to sleep?”

She didn’t tense at his suggestion; instead, she snuggled herself closer. “I don’t think I’m tired anymore.”

He rubbed his hand lovingly against her arm; effortlessly, like he was ready to do just that for the rest of his life. “Are you scared of falling asleep, Leia?”

“No, not scared,” her voice was smaller than before. “I just don’t like how shaken up I wake up from my nightmares. It doesn’t make me feel good.”

Rather than providing futile words, he chose to kiss her temples. His small deed of love would barely help, but neither would any verbal reassurances. 

“Where were you?” Leia asked, out of the blue. “You were gone for a while.”

He pondered between evading her question or being completely honest with her. Without much consideration, he concluded honesty to be wiser; she would learn of it sometime anyway, and maybe she wouldn’t appreciate him lying to her.

“Padmé wanted to talk.”

“Oh,” she was a little surprised with it — she hadn’t been expecting that — but there was no animosity in her voice. On the contrary. “How is she?”

“Mostly… She’s just worried about you.”

“Hm,” she hummed again, and shifted within his hold so she’d hide her face completely against him. “I’m… I’m worried about her, too. I feel sorry for her.”

He found it a little ironic how he had these two wonderful women rambling to him about each other while dreading to speak directly to one another. “You should talk to her, Leia.”

“Not… Not right _now,_ ” she hesitated. “I need — I need a little space. If I go to her now, I might let my anger get the best of me and snap at her, _again,_ when she’s being diplomatically civil to me. I don’t want to do that. It might bring even more harm to our — our relationship.”

Understanding, he nodded. “Don’t let her drift too far away, Leia. I understand where you’re coming from, but… She’s your ally. She only wants what’s best for you, and she’s willing to do whatever it takes to ascertain your well-being.”

“I know…” she whispered softly. “I know that, and somehow that only makes it _harder_ …”

He breathed in the smell of her hair. “There’s nothing _weak_ about letting other people take care of you.”

“I know,” she said, trying to convince herself more than him. “You’re taking care of me, aren’t you?”

“Yes. It only took me three years to get on your good grace,” he teased, gently rolling his eyes at her.

She good-heartedly chuckled at him. “It’s barely been two months.”

“Yes, but you’ll drive Luke _insane_ if it takes you another thirty-four months to warm up to her.”

She laughed again, and gently pinched his ribs.

“Speaking of taking _care_ of you,” he abruptly changed the subject, “I ran into Mon Mothma just now.”

Leia made a face. She knew that, as a high ranking member of the rebellion and a personal friend of Mon Mothma’s, the former senator from Chandrila would expect Leia to find her after her first day back on the Senate, trying to get things running again; however, she had been so emotionally drained that she couldn’t bring herself to do so.

“What did she say?”

“Well,” he started, “She asked me if you were alright, because it’s not like you to disappear when you’ve reached a milestone for taking the Senate back again, so she was concerned that there was something regarding you that she should worry about.”

“Which you told her _there wasn’t._ ”

This time, his roll of eyes came from a place of annoyance. “ _Of course._ I also told her that you had a really bad headache and I convinced you to go to bed, while the grownups took care of the galaxy.”

At last, she raised her head to scowl at him. “I _am_ a grownup.”

“You’re refusing to go to bed at night. That’s peak childish behavior for me,” he provoked, a smirk shaping the corner of his lips.

She blew a puff of air, “You’re _so_ annoying.”

He shot his eyebrows up, “Granted, but am I _wrong_?”

“Yes,” accused, and to prove him as much, she aligned once again against his chest, closing her eyes so tightly there were wrinkles across her eyelids, while searching for the perfect position.

“You’re just gonna force yourself to sleep just so you’ll be _right_?”

Like a very spoiled child, she replied, “Yes.”

Laughing at her — yet a little smugly that at least she _would_ try and get some sleep — he gave her full permission to use his body as a pillow. He heard her sigh once she was properly nested against him, and he didn’t move for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you asked for Leia and Padmé bonding, you asked for Luke and Padmé bonding, I give you -- Han and Padmé bonding hehe
> 
> _ObsessiveMultiFan_ , this one was for one, as you asked for a chapter mostly from Han's POV so long ago and I finally managed to bring it in lol
> 
> as always, if you're reading this, consider taking a moment from your time to leave me a comment. they mean everything to me!


	29. Twenty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are about to get... interesting...

When Luke Skywalker invited his sister to have breakfast with him in a quiet lounge inside the rebel base, where he knew they wouldn’t be disturbed, Leia should have known there was  _ more  _ to it than a simple breakfast.

Or, maybe, she  _ did  _ know there was reason to suspect his ulterior motives, and she had simply been too curious to learn what he was plotting to turn down his invitation.

So, there she found herself, sitting next to him without any elegance while treating herself a slice of fruit. Of course, this little breakfast party couldn’t even compare to what a simple breakfast meal she would have been like in the palace of Aldera, but she appreciated the gesture. She doubted it had been easy to sneak all these snacks there without attracting the attention of unwanted eyes, and still he had made sure to bring her favorite fruit and coffee just as she liked it.

Part of her told her he was trying to buy her before he said or did something that would clearly have her lose her patience at him — but she wasn’t in the mood to listen to her own mind. She’d much rather wait and see where the morning took her.

“I was worried that Han would take it badly that I didn’t invite him,” Luke broke the brief silence they had entered, after having spent the past several minutes throwing small talk away.

“Han?!” she eyed him with a mocking expression, “For the four years you’ve known him for, when did he ever appreciate any form of social gathering?”

Luke loudly laughed at her assertion. “ _ Come on.  _ It’s just us. Besides, he’s infatuated with you. He wouldn’t pass out the chance to spend the morning with you.”

Leia grinned —  _ that  _ much was true. “He didn’t mind. He knows the importance of us spending time together and  _ bonding _ . He wouldn’t want to intrude.”

His happy expression suddenly shut off, “You mean… Because of—”

“You know why, Luke,” Leia sighed, placing the core of the apple she had been eating over her plate.

“Yes, but…” he cleared his throat, “I wanted to specify.”

She offered him a look. 

“Well,” he found it easier to look down at the table than directly at her, “It’s been three days, and… And you haven’t said anything…”

Her brows shot up. “About…?”

“Well,” he repeated, evidently uncomfortable to be having that conversation — or  _ trying  _ to. “If you haven’t noticed it, then it’s not making any difference to you. Or, even, it’s making you  _ better,  _ and I don’t want to be the one to put you down with my dramatics, not if you’re feeling — better.”

“Luke,” she sang his name, waiting until he found the courage to look at her again. “Of course I noticed.”

“Oh,” he exclaimed, a little taken aback.

“And  _ of course  _ it’s made a difference to me, and not for the best.”

A little nervous, he clasped his hands together. “Why didn’t you say anything? I don’t want to sound selfish, or whiny, but I was starting to think that you were better off — without me.”

“Because, Luke,” she chose her words carefully, understanding his pain and even sharing it, just not — empirically. “At this moment, I’m not comfortable with the prospect of anyone going through my head again.”

“Oh,” he said again, his cheeks turning red at how egocentric he had been acting to himself. “I’m sorry, Leia.”

“It’s not your fault, Luke,” she earnestly said, folding her arms. “For the longest time now, our sacred bond has been the only constant in my life. Our connection gives me  _ strength,  _ it’s a reminder that I will never be alone. It’s gone, now, and I feel…  _ empty,  _ like a part of me is missing, and — ah, I know I don’t have to explain it to  _ you.  _ However, I am also  _ terrified  _ of what might happen if you come inside my mind again, no matter how genuine your intentions are, after what happened last time—” she loudly exhaled. “I’m not ready, Luke. Not yet. And I need you to learn how to live without me there for a while, until… Until I feel safe again.”

“Leia,” he spoke her name with conviction, “I would never do anything to you that you didn’t feel comfortable with. If I ever made you believe otherwise — then I take full responsibility for my misconduct, and I’ll do my best to repair myself to you.”

“Luke,” she reached out to find his hand in hers. “Come on. I know you would never hurt me —  _ not…  _ intentionally.”

Sniffing, he held her hand strongly. “You know, I’m the one supposed to be comforting you right now.”

She opened her lips in a coy smile. “You’re my little brother. It’s always my duty to look after you.”

Scoffing, he shook his head negatively. “I thought we had already established that I’m the older sibling.”

With her lips in a mocking pout, she shot her shoulders up and down. “And I  _ told  _ you that all of that is hogwash.”

Feigning annoyance, he rolled his eyes at her and finally let go of her hand.

Leia smiled tenderly at her brother; the past couple of days had been daunting, when each of them followed their own path, trying to give one another space, while terrified at the prospect that things would never be the same again — but being here with him again, like nothing else was happening and they just got to be normal  _ siblings,  _ teasing each other for the most frivolous things, everything almost felt normal once more.

“Have you talked to her?”

Coming from him, the question wasn’t all that sudden or unexpected. In fact, Leia was surprised that it had taken him so long to finally bring it up, and she watched with caution as he anxiously picked up his sandwich while being too unsettled to eat.

“No,” Leia answered simply, calmly, and — with a tight heart. She hated that Padmé would have been left ignored during these trying times, and yet—

“Me either,” Luke confessed, and his voice was burdened with guilt. He dropped his sandwich back to his plate, dreading that trying to eat would only make him nauseous. 

“I know.”

“You do?!” he asked, incredulous. “How?”

“Strange as it might sound,  _ Han  _ has been talking to her,” Leia clarified, and it was as weird to hear those words as to say them.

“ _ Han _ ?!” he nearly choked at the image. “Wait, behind our backs?”

“No, no,” she assured. After all, Han  _ did  _ know better than to do anything behind her back. “But Padmé shouldn’t be completely on her own as of now; despite everything that happened, she doesn’t deserve that. Han ran into her on the first night, and they talked, genuinely bonded. I encouraged him to keep doing that. Saying  _ hi  _ to her, if nothing more.”

“I see,” he conceded with a grave voice, “So Han waited until you and I were out of the picture so he could snatch Padmé all to himself.”

Leia tried to laugh, but her laugh was hollow.

“Something like that. It’s about time he gets some mommy time.”

“Hm,” Luke huffed. “But, in all seriousness, Leia, you’re not mad at her? I’d expected you to be — a little more drawn back, regarding her.”

“Surprisingly, no. I’m not,” she said, and it was astonishing her just as much as it would shock him. “I’m feeling several different emotions regarding — that whole thing, but anger towards Padmé isn’t one of them. Mostly, I just feel bad for her. She didn’t deserve us to back out on her over such an…  _ innocent  _ thing.”

“She didn’t,” Luke agreed, “And yet — I’m still angry at her, Leia. I don’t appreciate that she’d be joking around like that.”

“Careful, Luke,” Leia warned him, very seriously, “Anger is a path to the dark side.”

His jawline dropped when he heard that, and the color drained from his face until he realized she was teasing him. “Not funny, Leia.”

“Not funny? That’s because you didn’t see your face,” she denounced, holding her snicker back. And then, her expression became severe again. “It had been a tiring day. Hell, it’s been  _ exhaustive  _ months. Sometimes, we just say things — that we don’t mean.”

Luke sighed exaggeratedly. “I spoke to her, once, after we made it back—”

“You shouldn’t have,” Leia interrupted, “You should have allowed yourself to cool off a little.”

“Well, the warning is coming a little bit too late,” he lamented. “I needed to talk to her, Leia. I needed to try and make sense.”

She slowly nodded her head. “Did your conversation enlighten you at all?”

“On the contrary,” he bemoaned. “I left her room feeling even worse than before.”

“I’m sorry, Luke.”

“Not your fault,” he said. “It’s just… She wanted to know if we, if  _ I  _ hated her.”

Feeling her muscles a little tenser, she clasped her hands together over her lap. “That’s a question that you should  _ never  _ falter to answer, Luke. No matter the circumstances.”

“Shouldn’t I?!” his voice became higher pitched. “I feel… Like I have an  _ obligation,  _ here. And I’m not exactly sure of what I’m supposed to do, without…”

“Without hurting me?” she offered, and he shyly nodded, amazed that even though their ethereal connection was gone, she still knew him  _ so well.  _ “I’m gonna tell you the same thing I told Ameera: there are no sides to  _ choose _ , Luke.”

Luke stared at her intently, trying to decipher her words. “Shouldn’t there be, Leia? How could I stand while someone treats you like you’re the embodiment of evil? How can  _ you  _ allow someone to treat you like that and not stand up for yourself? You should never,  _ never  _ allow someone to treat you like that, Leia…!”

She tilted her head affectionately at him, impressed that he was taking the whole situation so much deeper than she was, and yet not altogether that surprised. “I know which battles to choose, Luke.”

He looked grim, diverging her eyes away for the moment. “It’s not—I don’t see you as a fragile, weak thing that needs to be protected and defended. On the contrary, Leia, I know very well how you’re capable of looking after yourself, and that you don’t take shit just from anybody. Still, I… I’m your brother, and I feel like I must  _ do  _ something. I don’t want to see you hurt, or hurting, because it breaks my heart. So how do I just stand by until all of this blows over?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “But you have to try.  _ For me _ , you have to try it. Because you say you don’t like seeing me hurt, but Luke—I  _ hate  _ seeing you out of your element, stepping out of your true essence on my behalf. I don’t want that. I want to preserve you, this passionate, luminous being who  _ always  _ has too much love inside. You faced Vader determined to let him kill you so convinced you were that there was still good in him, so it shouldn’t be different with Padmé. Actually, it  _ should  _ be different with her, because Padmé  _ does  _ have good inside, and that much is indubitable.”

“I suppose,” he choked the words out, his throat a little constricted. 

“Go to her and say that you love her, that you always will,” Leia instructed, earnestly. “If you wanted my blessing, then you have it. Don’t ever let the spark of your love be put out, Luke, not even for me. It’s your essence, yes, but it’s also your greatest trait.”

Luke chuckled soundlessly. “I thought you hated that specific quirk of mine.”

She joined him in his giggle. “Only when you’re extending the courtesy of your affection to Vader.”

And just like that, sorrow compromised his expression. “About that, I… I would like to apologize, Leia. Genuinely do so. More often than not, I sidelined your relationship with Vader to prioritize my own interests, and that wasn’t fair, or kind, of me. I realize that I have failed you, I let you down whenever I considered him over you, and for that, I can only offer my sincere apologies. I promise I’ll try to do better, to  _ be  _ better.”

Leia felt shivers running down her spine, and she felt very small sitting there with her hands on her lap and her head facing down. Out of a place of diplomacy, her first instinct was to say —  _ it’s okay _ ; but it wasn’t, and she shouldn’t state otherwise, so she refrained herself. “I accept your apology,” she said gravely. “If we’re being honest and open to each other, Luke, then I must say that every time you did — well, it hurt more than what Padmé unintentionally did. You say you’re my brother, you say you have a duty to protect me, but what good is that for if you refuse to listen when I say that Vader  _ ruined  _ my life, and I don’t want anything with him?”

His eyes shimmered with tears, and he forced himself to keep them in. “I’ve been a terrible brother to you, and I hope someday, somehow, I can make it up to you. I’m  _ sorry,  _ Leia.”

Forcing a smile to the corner of her lips, she conceded. “I forgive you. You’re determined to do better than that, and that’s all that matters.”

Luke sniffed; he wasn’t so sure about  _ that _ .

“I used to have nightmares,” he confessed, so out of the blue, that he startled Leia with the sharpness of his voice. “When he cut off my hand and then proceeded to tell me that that  _ monster _ was my father,” he breathed in and out anxiously, “I had nightmares, every day, for a long time.”

With her breath stuck in her throat, Leia forced herself to look at him. If he was finally comfortable enough to share bits of his story, then she could at least try not to cower herself out of fear of what she might hear.

“It didn’t help that Yoda had foreseen that I would get my ass kicked by Vader, or that Han had just gone missing,” he attempted at some humor; Leia didn’t much as smile. “I felt like the entire weight of the galaxy had been placed on my shoulders, and it was  _ crushing.  _ It was the only thought on my mind and the one thing I couldn’t share with anyone. It’s not — I wanted nothing more than to share it with you, Leia, you were my best friend back then, but… I was terrified that you would condemn me for the things that he did. Your entire life you dedicated yourself to defeating him, only to learn that the devil’s son was fighting side by side with you… Leia, I was terrified that you would turn on me as well, when I needed you the most. And, at night, my dreams haunted me. Dreams of him; dreams of him hurting you; dreams of me turning dark and hurting my friends. I only managed to sleep peacefully again when I accepted it, I accepted my bloodline and that the sins of my kinship are not the sins of my own.”

Leia was biting down on her lip so hard as she heard him that it was losing its color. There was a funny taste to her mouth and she felt  _ sick  _ with the knowledge of how long Vader had tormented her brother and he thought he had to suffer alone.

She wouldn’t have turned on him — at least, she didn’t  _ think  _ she would have had. She knew Luke, she knew there was only good inside of him, and if he came to her with the information that Vader had fathered him, then she would have fought even harder alongside him to take the  _ monster  _ down.

“I will never forget the look on your face when I told you that I was Vader’s son,” Luke reminisced sadly, a likewise sad smile on his lips. “You were horrified. You were disgusted, you almost looked at me like I was Vader myself. Because Vader had brought you all the pain you’d ever known, and then you learned that your best friend was hiding from you that he had come from the monster that had so mercilessly hurt you… Of course you’d feel betrayed. Then, I had to tell you that you were my sister, and you were the devil’s daughter as well, and I  _ knew  _ it would shatter you. It had shattered me, and Vader didn’t do to me half the stuff he did to you. Leia, I… I hate Vader too. More than you could ever imagine. For everything that he did to me, to Han, and to you… I will never forgive him. Unfortunately, I have no alternative than to accept it.”

“I…” she tried, then stopped. Luke was right, she had no idea about his hatred for Vader because most of the time she tended to overlook everything he had suffered under Vader’s grasp, and that wasn’t nice of her. She wanted to apologize for being so self-absorbed, yet her words failed.

“I understand that  _ accepting  _ it is the hardest thing you’ve ever faced. Trust me, I’ve been there,” he joked again, “But you have to, Leia. You need to accept  _ yourself,  _ who you are, and that you are a beacon of light to the entire galaxy, even though you might have come from darkness.”

At last, he stopped talking. He stopped looking at her as well, giving her the space to sort through her thoughts before she said anything. He wouldn’t even press that she said something at all; if she  _ listened  _ to him at least, it was already enough.

“My… My nightmares don’t come from my bloodline,” she admitted, hoarsely. “Well,  _ some  _ of them do, I guess, but not — not the majority of them. Luke, I… I can’t  _ cope _ with the things he has done, to me, to  _ Alderaan.  _ And maybe that’s the root of all my problems.”

“I understand,” Luke said in a whisper, flickering his eyes between his sister and the floor. “I’m sorry, Leia.”

She smiled gently at him. “Nothing of this is your fault, Luke.”

He sighed loudly. “I feel like I’ve brought you an immeasurable burden by being the one to tell you of your bloodline.”

“Hm,” she murmured, “Well, the truth couldn’t be kept from me, from  _ us,  _ forever. One way or another, we would have found out. Honestly, I’m glad it was  _ you _ who told me. I loved you, and I trusted you, and you brought me the peace of being your sister before I got to be his daughter. If anyone else told me — well, I don’t even think I would have believed them.”

“Hm,” he made the same sound with his throat, and he chuckled softly at himself at the thought that followed, “I wonder how you would have reacted if  _ Padmé  _ had told you.”

Surprising even herself, Leia joined him in his giggle. “Oh, that wouldn’t have gone well.”

He shook his head from one side to another, “Nope.”

“I don’t think I would have believed her,” Leia prompted, “This woman comes out of the blue into our lives, claiming we are the Devil’s children? There’s no liability there.”

Luke puffed, “You would have probably hurt her on the spot for even suggesting that.”

Leia made an innocent face, but who was she kidding — she most likely would have.

“You know,” she started, her voice a little hesitant, “Our relationship would have unfolded a lot differently if we — if  _ I  _ hadn’t known about Vader,” she exhaled desperately, “Looking back, I  _ do  _ admit that a big part of my animosity towards her came from a place mistrust, from a place of misplaced  _ hatred _ .”

Luke nodded, a little happy that she was finally seeing it for herself. Although now, looking back, he wasn’t sure he could hold her hostility against her.

“I understand now that it wasn’t very fair of me to blame her for  _ his  _ sins. She fell in love with him, but she never once defended his crimes,” Leia carried on, “It’s still hard, though. To accept that anything good could ever come from him.”

He smiled sadly at her logic. “ _ You  _ are good, Leia.”

She chuckled lightly but accepted the compliment. “I want to be. I want to bring back the light that our father stole from the galaxy.”

So his smile broadened.

“You already have,” he assured, reaching out once again for her hand. “For what is worth, Leia, and I’m not certain how worth it is, but — I am really proud of you, and everything you’ve done.”

She pressed her lips in a thin line and allowed her eyes to briefly close.

“It’s worth more than you could imagine.”

He beamed sluggishly and didn’t let go of her.

“Leia, ern…” he tried, his sudden tone change showing the shift of the conversation focus. “I actually asked you here for a very specific reason.”

Leia rolled her eyes good-heartedly — of course he had.

He cleared his throat as if that would make it any easier. “It’s not that — that I don’t enjoy your company, or that I wouldn’t want to selflessly spend time with my sister, but… I, ern…”

All things considered, it  _ was  _ cute when he was nervous and started losing his eloquence.

“Whatever it is, I promise I won’t  _ bite _ .”

He laughed nervously. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Luke—”

“I haven’t meditated in a while,” he confessed abruptly, and his fingers lost their grip around her hand, but never left. “A lot has been going on lately, and… I haven’t trusted myself to connect to the Force, I have been  _ afraid  _ to forge this bond with something that has always and only given to me.”

Leia looked at him warily but didn’t dare to disturb him.

“Meditation has been one of my greatest allies, ever since I started my path as a Jedi. It isn’t just a deeper connection to the Force, it’s about gaining a deeper understanding of ourselves. It provides us the means to gain a greater control over our thoughts and emotions. Meditation helps us towards greater peace and harmony and serenity. I haven’t been able to do that in a while.”

In response, Leia took it upon herself to hold his hand tightly.

“I haven’t meditated in a while,” he repeated after a brief moment of silence. “My feelings have been all out of the place for a while now. Not because of — you, or you and Padmé, or just Padmé. It’s everything piling up, and I’ve been a stray to the Force. And that shouldn’t happen, because the Force is the one constant in my life, it  _ is  _ the harbor of peace and harmony, so maybe my current disconnection to the Force is responsible for the conflict inside of me. Then again, I’m scared of connecting myself to the Force again because of the conflict inside of me, and I guess I’m stuck in this endless loop.”

He paused, and a coy smile shaped the corner of his lips.

“I called you here because… I can’t keep running away from this, not when the Force is part of who I am,” he said, gathering the strength to gaze at her again because it wouldn’t be fair to be glancing away as the next very calculated words escaped his lips, “And… Leia, would you like to meditate with me?”

Leia stared at him blankly, taken aback. She knew that there had to be an ulterior motive for their little get together, and yet Luke never failed to surprise her. Still, it didn’t come as close to surprising her as her next words did—

“Yes.”

He was staring at her, but he wasn’t looking at her. “I understand that this is a lot to ask of you, but I want you to experience the warmth that the Force folds us with. I understand that you’ve only had bad experiences with the Force—wait, did you just say yes?”

Leia sighed, not even bothering herself to roll her eyes.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” he murmured. “I thought I would have to try and convince you.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to it if you had tried to persuade me, or tried to impose it, rather than asking me,” Leia denounced, gravely. “My relationship with the Force is fucked up. It has always and only come to me as a result of… force, and I won’t have it coerced into me again. Because of that, I appreciate that you  _ asked  _ me. It gives me control over my own choices, it gives me control over the  _ Force.  _ You said it yourself, the Force only gives, and  _ that’s  _ what I want to see for myself. Not the twisted variant of it that has only ever taken from me.”

Luke listened soberly to her. “I think you’re very brave, Leia, for taking this first step.”

“Well,” she bit down on her lips anxiously, her nerves regarding what she had accepted starting to catch up to her. “I’d like to experience this peace and serenity you’d rambling about. I need it more than I’m willing to admit.”

Comprehending, he nodded, and before she could process it he was on his feet, offering her his hand. “Shall we, Milady?”

This time, the eye roll came naturally, but she gratefully accepted it.

“Come on, sit down,” he instructed, and they were both sitting down on the ground, a ground that most likely hadn’t been swept for months. They didn’t pay attention to that; instead, Luke crossed his legs in front of him and Leia copied his stance, her dress falling gracefully over her legs. They were so close their knees were almost touching.

“Luke, I…” she gritted her teeth, holding tightly to her knees. “Okay. I guess this terrifies more than I thought it would.”

He looked at her with compassionate eyes. “Leia, if you’re not ready…”

“I want to be ready,” she inferred.”

“Okay, but if you  _ aren’t _ ,” he said, “We don’t have to do this.”

“No, I…” her voice was getting smaller and smaller. “I  _ need  _ to do this. I need — I need help. I am hurting too badly, Luke. I need — help, and if the Force is going to bring me peace, then I’ll welcome it.”

“Okay,” he said cautiously, “You have to be careful, though. This is your first direct contact with the Force, and you can’t let your fear guide you.”

She breathed in heavily. “Or…?”

“Or,” he paused briefly, “Your fear will guide you towards dark places. It doesn’t mean you’re going to become dark, it doesn’t mean bad things will happen; however, the Force senses your fears, and it’ll show you exactly what you don’t want to see.”

Anxiously, she bit down on her lower lip. “Seems like you’re talking from experience.”

“I am,” he chuckled softly. “When I first started my training — I saw things that terrified me. The Force brought me to my knees; the dark side —  _ tempted  _ me. But the things I saw, Leia, they never became true.”

By then, she was holding nervously to her knees. “That sounds scary.”

“It was,” he agreed with a strong bow. “This is why I ask you, try not to focus on your anger, or on your fear. Focus on your healing only, ask the Force for  _ help.  _ If you ask, the Force will come to your aid.”

She nodded. “Can the Force heal me?”

Luke smiled sadly at her. “Only you can heal yourself, Leia. But the Force will guide you. It will be there for you every step of the way.”

“Okay,” she hesitantly agreed, forcing an exhale out of her system. “What do I do then?”

“I want you to close your eyes,” he instructed, “And listen to the sound of my voice. I will guide you until you feel the warmth of the Force welcoming you in.”

So she closed them, so tightly there were wrinkles all over her eyelids.

“Leia,” he said, well aware of her body tension. He reached forward and held both her hands in his. “Take a deep breath, in and out. Calm yourself, let your guard down as the Force vows to protect you. This isn’t going to hurt you.”

Again, her anxious and vigorous nodding. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

He gave her hands a strong squeeze, sensing as she allowed the tension to evade her body and peace to reign her face.

“I want you to focus on the light within yourself. Everything else, everything happening outside of your body, it’s not important. Keep it out of your mind. Keep every one of your worries out of your mind. This is your safe harbor; you are free from harm here.”

Leia took in breath after breath as she searched for the peace within herself.

“Feel the life, Leia,” Luke carried on, “The Force is  _ life.  _ The Force connects everything and everyone. It fastens you to your past and it fastens you to your future; it binds you from the most insignificant creature to the grandiosity of the universe. Feel yourself become part of it all;  _ allow  _ yourself to be part of it all.”

She felt her body light, she felt herself slowly disconnecting herself from the exterior life. She could still feel Luke’s hands attached to hers, and they were her only remaining link to the physical realm.

“Accept who you are, Leia. Accept this power inside of you, let it come to you. Feel it, sense it, embrace it. And when you’re ready, touch it.”

An unfamiliar warmth enfolded her; it brought her calm. She knew her eyes to be closed, yet, there was so much surrounding her. There were sparks everywhere, and it was beautiful. She wanted to touch them; she wanted to lighten up herself.

Luke smiled when Leia’s hands lost their grip around his own; she was one with the Force. It had welcomed her home, and he could almost feel her presence in the fabric of the Force —  _ almost.  _ And it was okay; for that moment, he didn’t mind, or miss her. He knew she was  _ there;  _ he would only need to find her again.

So, he closed his eyes and allowed the Force to take him as well.

* * *

Princess Leia found herself at peace.

Feelings of peace were so foreign to her that their unfamiliarity scared her at first, until she realized there was nothing to be afraid of. She had found the place where she belonged, where no harm would ever reach her.

Only light reigned there. There was no death, there was no pain, there was just — her. It almost reminded her of Alderaan.

The sparks danced around her; she smiled. She understood that they were her friends; so, she touched them.

She touched them with the tip of her fingers and suddenly she was somewhere else. Somewhere she had never been before, where she was a stranger to the scene unfolding; yet, she felt like she belonged. The interior of a ship; of course she belonged, she had been born for the stars ever since she opened her eyes. Still, there was something about those two strangers there, that little scared boy and that brave young girl—

_ “Are you alright?” _

_ “It’s very cold.” _

_ “You’re from a warm planet, Ani. Too warm for my taste. Space is cold.” _

A chilly breeze swirled around her body; she knew those people. There was something familiar about them, about that girl handing the young sad boy her overcoat, about that innocent boy feeling so far from home.

_ “I’m… I’m not sure what’s going to happen to me. I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. I made this for you, so you'd remember me. I carved it out of a japor snippet... It will bring you good fortune.” _

_ “It's beautiful, but I don't need this to remember you. Many things will change when we reach the capital, Ani. My caring for you will always remain.” _

_ “I care for you too. Only I… miss…” _

_ “You miss your mother.” _

Leia was overwhelmed; that little boy — he spoke to her heart. She missed her mother too, and her father. Like him, she had been stolen from her home, and loneliness… it was cold. She shivered as she watched the young boy be comforted by the hug that she never allowed her acquaintances to offer her after the destruction of Alderaan.

She chose her solitude; the little boy despised it.

His name — she had heard it before. And that pendant around the girl’s neck, she had seen it too, if she only could remember from where—

The ground faded beneath her and, before she could process it, she was somewhere else. Somewhere warm, but she could only feel death and horror happening there. Destruction. Like the destruction of Alderaan. And, it was dark; she could not see their faces—

_ “Don’t be afraid.” _

_ “I’m not afraid to die. I’ve been dying a little bit each day since you back into my life.” _

_ “What are you talking about?” _

_ “I love you.” _

_ “You love me?! I thought we decided not to fall in love. That we would be forced to live a lie. That it would destroy our lives.” _

_ “I think our lives are about to be destroyed anyway. My love for you is a puzzle, Ani, for which I have no answers. I can’t control it… and now I don’t care. I truly… deeply… love you, and before we die I want you to know.” _

And this love weighed so much. It carried so much burden that Leia felt crushed beneath it. Their love — hurt.

_ “I have no desire to be cured of this love either. Long or short, I vow to spend the rest of my life with you.” _

It hurt so deeply and so crudely and so rawly. She was overwhelmed; she had found love and love… it wasn’t supposed to hurt. Love was supposed to be peaceful and it was supposed to be a safe harbor; the notion of a love so forbidden made her dizzy—

And she was falling again. This time, when she landed, she had fallen to her knees.

She couldn’t get up; she was too mesmerized by those same people from before, their faces so distant but their words so close, and she was frozen within herself.

_ “Ani, I want to have our baby back home on Naboo. We could go to the lake country where no one would know… Where we would be safe. I could go early and fix up the baby’s room. I know the perfect spot, right by the gardens.” _

_ “You… Are so beautiful.” _

_ “It’s only because I’m so in love.” _

_ “No. It’s because I’m so in love with you.” _

_ “So love has blinded you?” _

_ “Well, that’s not exactly what I meant…” _

_ “But it’s probably true!” _

And they laughed, and laughed, and they hugged each other, and he spun her in the air, and they  _ loved  _ each other.

Then why did it feel so wrong? Why was their love so tainted?

Leia was uncomfortable being there, invading their privacy —  _ such a familiar privacy!  _ — and she hid her face behind her legs, like a little child, too scared of the immensity of the world surrounding her. She hid herself, her eyes closed as she focused on the sound of her breathing. 

And light ceased to exist. And light became darkness.

She was a child again, so small and vulnerable, trying to look strong and fierce to an entire planet that looked at her for guidance but so,  _ so  _ scared. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself — so scared of the dark! — and she did not raise her head, even if her mama and her papa always encouraged her to keep her chin high—

_ “Where is she? Is she safe, is she alright?” _

_ “I’m afraid she died… It seems, in your anger, you killed her.” _

_ “I? I couldn’t have! She was alive, I felt it!” _

There was so much darkness, there was so much anger, and the noise — the noise, she couldn’t silence his screams. They echoed in her head and they  _ hurt,  _ they hurt so much she couldn’t bear it. She was glass and she was shattering, alongside the entire world, alongside his entire world—

_ “Noooooo…!” _

And the world started to tremble. The world was glass, and the world was shattering until there was nothing left. Leia was dizzy; she couldn’t  _ bear  _ the darkness, she couldn’t bear the noise. She shut her eyes tightly and she pressed her hands desperate against her years. She was so afraid—

Then, there was nothing. Only darkness prevailed.

Leia opened her eyes, and she couldn’t see anything. Beneath her, there was no floor; she was floating, like she was in outer space. She twirled around herself desperately, trying to find some source of light, trying to find anything, and there it was—

_ Alderaan? _

She was home.

Alderaan,  _ her  _ Alderaan, safe and alive. So, she ran. She ran until she was out of breath, and not even that made her stop. If she could only go home—

And Alderaan became an explosion. The most beautiful show of lights she had ever seen; she was fascinated by the colors, she was enchanted with the warmth that the explosion brought her. It was so beautiful, she wanted to touch it—

Hypnotized, she raised her hand in the air. Her fingers were so close to the light, to the blasts of fire; the sparks were there again, guiding her home. Where she truly belonged.

Except—her home was no more.

Alderaan was gone.

So, she screamed.

_ “Noooooo…!” _

She screamed until her throat was hoarse, she screamed until her eyes were blurry and she could not see Alderaan amidst the debris anymore; instead, she saw a bonfire, where his body lied. She watched without reaction as the flames leaped higher and consumed his body, until there was nothing left.

Only his ashes. Like the ashes that had been left of Alderaan.

Nothing more than space dust.

_ “Leia.” _

She heard her name, and she turned her head to find the source of the calling — and everything disappeared, like it had never mattered at all.

The sparks swirled around her again. Darkness was no more; only light.

_ “Leia, come home.” _

With a deep breath, she let go of the sparks and she let go of the strings pulling her into another realm. When she opened her eyes, she and Luke were no longer alone.

Her heart rushed inside her chest, and, in her despair, she frantically pulled away from Luke’s gentle hold of her hands.

* * *

When Luke Skywalker became one with the Force once again, he found himself at peace.

_ He was home.  _ He could feel the warmth and the light embracing him — and, deep into this majestic realm, he could feel a presence that had never been there before; a presence so familiar to him that it brought him harmony.

Leia was there, with him, and they were finally one again.

Luke smiled, clinging tightly to the spark of her existence, and the sparks of the light that surrounded them and welcomed them. A feeling of belonging washed over him; it wasn’t unusual, because the Force had always accepted him in this realm of things that he couldn’t abstractly explain; yet, it was something  _ new,  _ because Leia had never been there with him before, and he felt like something that he didn’t know he was missing finally found its way to him again.

He could only show his gratitude to the Force for guiding Leia  _ home  _ with him.

The sparks danced around him; he was happy. He was thrilled to be there again, and he was relieved that Leia had accepted the grace of the Force as the Force gently called for her.

The sparks twirled around him. They were his friends, he had always known so; so, he touched them.

He touched them with the tip of his fingers and suddenly he was somewhere else. Somewhere he had never been before, where he was a stranger to the scene happening before his eyes; yet, he felt like he belonged. That boy, that boy looked  _ so much  _ like him. Was it him? No, he didn’t think so, he didn’t recall that memory. Still, there was something about that boy and his golden hair and piercing blue eyes, speaking to that bright young girl—

_ “Are you an angel?” _

_ “What?” _

_ “An angel. I’ve heard the deep space pilots talk about them. They live on the Moons of Iego, I think. They are the most beautiful creatures in the universe. They are good and kind, and so pretty they make even the most hardened spice pirate cry.” _

_ “I’ve never heard of angels.” _

_ “You must be one. Maybe, you just don’t know it.” _

Tingles of anticipation ran down his spine; he knew those people. There was something familiar about them, about that girl who, by all means,  _ was  _ an angel.

She was  _ his  _ angel; Luke knew as much. She had guided him home, when home was lost to him. She reminded him of home.

The ground faded beneath him and, before he could process it, he was somewhere else. Somewhere cold, and he didn’t feel so well; he could feel death and horror happening there. There was this woman, so hurt and injured and on the blink of death, and Luke thought that woman familiar—

The young man tried to save her, but he couldn’t; all was already lost long before he found her.

_ “Mom?” _

_ “Ani…? Ani…? Is it you?” _

_ “I’m here, mom. You’re safe.” _

_ “Ani? Ani? You look so handsome. My son, my grown-up son. I’m so proud of you, Ani.” _

_ “I missed you.” _

_ “Now I am complete. I love y…” _

_ “Stay with me, mom. Everything…” _

_ “I love… I love…” _

And as the woman drew her last breath, Luke became dizzy; something was wrong, something was  _ terribly  _ wrong. There was so much pain and hatred and a blue light ignited amidst the darkness of the night and suddenly there was only death. 

Luke didn’t feel good as he suddenly was somewhere else, somewhere where love and peace were supposed to reign — yet, only pain prevailed.

_ “I brought you something. Are you hungry?” _

_ “The shifter broke. Life seems so much simpler when you’re fixing things. I’m good at fixing things, always was. But I couldn’t… Why’d she have to die? Why couldn’t I save her?! I know I could have…!” _

_ “Sometimes there are things no one can fix. You’re not all powerful, Ani.” _

_ “Well, I should be…! Someday I will be. I will be the most powerful Jedi ever. I promise you. I will even learn to stop people from dying.” _

No; something was wrong.  _ Nobody  _ was supposed to hold so much power in their hands. Death was a natural part of life, death was part of the fabric of the Force. But wouldn’t Luke also do  _ everything  _ in his power to save those he loved? Unlike that young man couldn’t have?

_ “What’s wrong, Ani?” _

_ “I… I killed them. I killed them all, they’re dead. Every single one of them. And not just the men… But the women, and the children too. They’re like animals and I slaughtered them like animals! I hate them!” _

His head started to hurt. This was too much for him to bear. There she was, his angel, his comfort, and there he was, the  _ demon  _ that couldn’t think past his anger. Oh, the things he would do in the name of his anger—Luke didn’t feel so good.

He felt his breath being stolen from him, and suddenly—

_ “Anakin. All I want is your love.” _

_ “Love won’t save you, Padmé. Only my new powers can do that.” _

_ “At what cost? You’re a good person, don’t do this!” _

_ “I won’t lose you the way I lost my mother. I am becoming more powerful than any Jedi has ever dreamed of. And I’m doing it for you, to protect you.” _

_ “Come away with me. Help me raise our child. Leave everything else behind while we still can…!” _

_ “Don’t you see? We don’t have to run away anymore. I have brought peace to the Republic, I am more powerful than the Chancellor. I can overthrow him. And together, you and I can rule the galaxy, make things the way we want them to be…!” _

_ “I don’t believe what I’m hearing. Obi-wan was right, you’ve changed.” _

_ “I don’t want to hear any more about Obi-wan. The Jedi turned against me, don’t you turn against me.” _

_ “I don’t know you anymore…! Anakin  _ —  _ you’re breaking my heart! You’re going down a path I can’t follow!” _

_ “Because of Obi-wan?” _

_ “Because of what you’ve done! What you plan to do! Stop. Stop now! Come back! I love you!” _

_ “Liar!” _

Luke brought his hands to his necks imperatively—he couldn’t breathe, the Force was stealing him of his breath as  _ he  _ was stealing her of hers; choking her, willingly choosing to bring her to her dismay. Luke was weak to his knees, and he collapsed just as the lifeless woman fell to the floor. 

_ “You turned her against me!” _

_ “You have done that yourself.” _

_ “You will not take her from me!” _

_ “Your anger and your lust for power have already done that. You have allowed this dark lord to twist your mind until now you have become the very thing you swore to destroy.” _

And goodness ceased to exist. And what was once light now became darkness.

Luke made himself smaller, lying down on the floor, unable to move. He was a child again, defenseless and vulnerable, begging for a mummy and a daddy that abandoned him and never came back to him, even when he was  _ so certain  _ that one day they would. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself — so scared of the dark! — and he did not raise his head as the flames started to take over his body.

_ “I hate you!” _

_ “You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you!” _

He watched without reaction as the flames leaped higher and consumed his body, until there was nothing left but the shell of the man he had once been.

And it hurt — how much did it hurt. 

_ “Luke.” _

He heard his name, and he turned his head to find the source of the calling — and everything disappeared, like it had never mattered at all.

The sparks swirled around him again, except they were now a little fainter in light.

_ “Luke, come home.” _

An abrupt pull brought him back, shattering all the strings holding him dearly to the realm of the Force. When he opened his eyes, he and Leia were no longer alone.

His heart rushed inside his chest, and, in despair, he frantically threw his body in front of Leia’s.

“Anakin…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaand i'm out to get some ice cream. anyone want some?


	30. Twenty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did have some marvelous ice cream last week, thank you so much
> 
> ~this one is for all the anidalas out there.

At first, time seemed to freeze around him. Like he was part of somebody’s personal picture, garnishing someone’s life with the nice memories a single holo picture might bring. At first, he could not move, he could barely breathe; frozen within himself.

He couldn’t fathom anyone in their sadistic minds who would like to frame this precise moment, though. He hadn’t even lived the moment yet, still, he already knew it was tainted.

How could it not be? How could anything _good_ come from _him,_ when he had already tainted everything else?

Like his mother before him, Luke felt invisible fingers around his neck, stealing his ability to breathe. However, this time the invisible force didn’t come from Anakin; it came from within himself, it came alongside the burden of everything he had seen in his visions.

Everything was so — tainted. 

Leia was behind him; he knew as much, he could hear her frantically gasping for oxygen behind him. Like her mother before her, she couldn’t breathe, and the responsibility fell entirely on _Anakin’s_ presence there. 

_It always came back to Anakin. Anakin always tainted everything._

Luke never thought he would ever show dread and repulse to the man that had fathered him. Today, he did, and more than ever he understood the importance of snapping back into herself and falling into action — in whatever attempts of damage control.

Because, if he felt like this — he couldn’t even begin to imagine how Leia behind him felt.

Sometime before he came back from his meditation, she had stumbled back and was now cornered against the back wall, trying to get as far away from _him_ as she could. She had never seen before, only _Vader_ , but she knew it was him. She — felt it; she felt the same energy surrounding her whenever she faced Vader in his life, and she felt the same sense of panic and despair inside of her whenever she stood tall before Vader, refusing to yield to him, _terrified_ that she was making her last stance, but knowing she would be proud to die where she stood. Her skirt was tangled around her legs and her hands were anchored against the floor, trying to keep her steady, because she _knew_ there was nothing but herself stopping her from falling.

All because of him. Anakin tainted everything he touched.

And for the first time in her life, she found herself silently praying — _Mother, come save me from him._

Her mother, however, could not hear her silent cry.

With his heart thundering inside his chest, Luke posed himself in front of Leia in a way he _hoped_ she would lose Anakin from her line of vision. _Sith,_ Anakin’s apparition couldn’t come at a worst moment. Luke had just started to have Leia trust the Force, and _their father_ judged it to be the perfect moment to appear before them.

Anakin tainted everything; even the things he couldn’t touch.

With his lungs nearly exploding with the oxygen they were given, Luke slowly extended his arm in front of him, in a negotiating stance. He had no idea what Anakin was doing there, he had no idea what Anakin _wanted_ with them, but if things started to get messy, he wouldn’t hesitate to physically fight off the ghost of his dead father, as _insane_ as that sounded. But he refused to stand back and do nothing, for both his and Leia’s sake.

Just like the children he had fathered, Anakin Skywalker sat over the ground, his legs crossed in front of him, like he had been meditating as well; meditating alongside _them_. Luke couldn’t bear with his audacity of intruding in their most private moment when they were trying to find peace and harmony within the universe and within themselves — and Anakin could never belong because he was the epitome of disarray.

Anakin’s composure didn’t falter. He knew his presence there wasn’t welcomed, nor easily accepted, so he did not smile, and he did not speak; he just — waited.

He would wait forever, if necessary. He had the rest of eternity to spare.

Luke, however, didn’t waste any time—

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?”

Anakin looked at his son without any expectation; the young boy’s eyes were so full of love, so full of _rage,_ and — oh, how much did it remind him of himself. Then, he glanced at his daughter with anticipation; the young girl’s eyes were so hopeless, so _scared,_ and — oh, how much did it remind him of _her_ , standing in front of him over the burning grounds of Mustafar, heartbroken over the things he had so merciless done.

Then, he closed his eyes; he did not think he had the right to look at them. Not after everything that he had done.

“You called me here.”

Luke’s eyes shot open.

“I absolutely did not—”

“The both of you did,” Anakin said softly, his hands pressed firmly over his knees. Once again, he waited.

Luke abruptly turned back to look at his sister; she was frozen within herself, barely blinking. Her eyes were fixated on Anakin’s figure, despite Luke’s failed attempts of hiding him from her, and she would not move them, afraid that misplacing her attention would bring _Vader_ to do them more harm. She wouldn’t let him hurt Luke, or anyone else, ever again—

Hesitantly, Luke crawled closer to her, all but ignoring the father next to them. He remembered clearly that, in his meditation, he had been thinking of _him,_ of Anakin, of Vader, of the dichotomy between those two names, and he wondered if Leia was doing the same, so Anakin would interpret it as a call for him. After all, they had never been immersed under the veil of the Force together before, and maybe their presence there had enhanced everything.

Deep down, Luke also wondered if they had unconsciously called for him. Maybe, both he and Leia were desperately longing for the answers that only _he_ could give.

Luke leaned against the wall next to his sister, pulling her hand into his to give her something tangible to hold to, and — well, maybe he needed it as much as she did. His view of Anakin, of _Vader,_ wasn’t as clear as it had once been. Especially after the things he had just seen during his meditation—

“Leia,” he said her name gently, _knowing_ he needed to be strong for her, and, above all, remind her of _her_ strength. “I’m here, Leia.”

“I know.”

“He can’t do us harm. Not anymore.”

“I know,” she repeated.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” he requested, a coy smile on his lips, and a whole eternity seemed to pass until she finally turned her head towards him. “That— _thing_ standing there is just a ghost. I bet our hands would go right through his body if we tried to touch him.”

And his remark was so absurd that she did the most absurd thing as well — she laughed.

Luke offered her one more reassuring smile, trying to read on her face how she wanted to proceed: would she choose to walk away or would she brace herself and face him. He would respect her choice either way; hell, he would most likely walk out of there with his head tall if that’s what she chose to do. After the things he had seen done in his vision, he only bore animosity in his chest for the man; perhaps, even more than Leia did at that moment.

Still delving deeply into her brother’s ocean eyes, Leia offered him the strongest nod she had to give. She knew what she had to do, even though it wasn’t what she _wanted_ to do. No; she needed to stay here, she needed to face the man of her every nightmare to show him just how strong she was. After all, she had stood tall before Vader every time that she ran paths with him; she refused to cower in front of Anakin, nonetheless.

So, allowing the physical bond she shared with her brother at that moment to offer her fortitude — in replacement of the empirical link they had once shared — Leia looked at Anakin again. This time, she forced her breathing to quiet and her heart to calm down.

Both tasks seemed to be nearly impossible, though.

“What do you want?”

When her voice didn’t falter, but instead bore all her steadiness and graciousness, it surprised even herself. Next to her, Luke gazed back at their father once more.

“You called for me,” Anakin peacefully responded, and from all the times he had stared down at Princess Leia, it had never hurt so much. Before, she was just his enemy; now, not only was she his daughter but she also bore _her_ face. And her face was only reminiscent of every wrong he had ever done. “I’m afraid I have lost the right to want anything from my children.”

“We’re not your children,” Leia said, unconsciously leaning closer to her brother. Just like that, her voice became so small that only the complete silence in the room allowed them to hear her. Because — she was his daughter, at the same time that she refused to be, and her bloodline weighed over her. 

“No, you are not,” he agreed with a gentle nod. “Yet, you came from me.”

More than ever, Leia needed her mother and her father by her side; _promising_ her she was theirs, and theirs only. Why did they have to die before they could promise her that?

No — why did they have to die before they told her the truth about her parentage? While being there to comfort as she faced the hardest imposition of her life?

 _Because,_ her mother’s voice echoed in her ears, _you were always ours. Only ours._

She sniffed; was that entirely true?

It wasn’t; she belonged to Padmé, too.

But not Vader. Never Vader.

So, Leia yelled, “No!” and both her hands — even the one still strongly attached to Luke’s — were in front of her face, in her attempts to both contain her emotions and to hide herself away. “ _Fathers_ don’t cut off their sons’ hands and blow up their daughters’ home planets for… for fun!”

Anakin accepted the accusations with dignity; he was not proud of his doings, but he could not deny them or justify them. 

_What would Padmé think of him if he tried to justify all the pain he had willingly brought_ her _children?_

Because, after all, Luke and Leia were her children — Luke bore her grace and her goodness and her will to do anything she could to help those in need, and Leia bore her strength and her compassion and her determination to give her life for the cause she believed in. Anakin looked at them, and he only saw her. 

His children had nothing inherited from him.

“Is that why you called me here, Leia?” he pondered, daring. “Because you need to lash out at the things that I’ve done? Or because you’re struggling _too_ much with who you _are_?”

Leia looked at him with such a deep rage that she could easily fusillade him with her eyes; she would _not_ be having this conversation with him. Her questions about her identity belonged to her only; the _monster_ that had been responsible for nothing more than to bring her to life didn’t get to claim her blood tie to him. She refused to—

“You came from me, yes,” Anakin repeated, his voice imposing and steady, “However, you have nothing of me inside of you. I promise you as much.”

Her eyes remained big and alarmed; next to her, Luke squeezed her hand.

_She had nothing of him inside of her._

No, that was wrong — she had inherited his emotions. She stood there in front of him and the rage and hatred fueling her veins was enough proof of that. However, she deferred from him on the simple aspect that she had never once allowed her emotions to control her.

If she had, she would have fallen to the dark side the second Alderaan turned into space dust. For the first time in her life, she could say to herself with conviction — _she hadn’t become him; she never would._

For the first time in her life, she was certain as much. She might have inherited his emotions, but she had also inherited Padmé’s fairness. And because of Padmé, she would never turn.

“I have done terrible things, Leia,” Anakin said amidst Leia’s silence. Although Leia was the one to have called him there, he would gladly do all the talking as the princess sorted her thoughts and came to understand for herself what she had called him for. “I have done things — that nobody needs to imagine. And for that, I will never forgive myself. Not in the sense that I pity myself, not in a meaningless sense; no, I might have found the light again, but the darkness corrupted for too long, and because of what I’ve done, I’ll never find peace again. I’ll never truly be in balance with the universe, not until I have repaid my debt to the light. For every one of my misdeeds, for every soul that I ever laid my hands on. For you, and for Luke.”

 _For Padmé_.

“Until I have fully restored the light that the darkness once inside of me stole, the Force won’t forgive me, and how could I ever repay all the hurt that I’ve caused? For my sins, I will willingly spend the rest of eternity in agony.”

The first word to come to her mind was _good._ She refrained from saying it aloud.

“I don’t _need_ to imagine the terrible things you’ve done, I’ve seen them with my own eyes,” Leia accused, choosing to focus on the tangible rather than on the penitence that she couldn’t fully comprehend, not when _she_ herself wasn’t truly at peace with the Force, either. “You did them to Luke, to Han, to my mother, to my _parents,_ to Alderaan — to _me._ I relive all the terrible things you’ve done _every night_ in my dreams. You are nothing but a demon to me. You tried to tarnish me in your life, and now you haunt me in your death.”

Luke shivered under her words, under the illustration of the evil they had all experienced under Vader’s power. And, on a more selfish note — he couldn’t help but notice that, for the first time, Leia had referred to Padmé as _her mother._ His heart sped up at that, and he wondered if the Force had shown her something to guide her towards a greater acceptance of the woman that had so selflessly come back to them.

The woman that, as he came to understand, would die if it meant saving Anakin from Vader. The woman that had, by all means, died so her children would be kept safe from Vader.

If only they both hadn’t been born _so like her;_ so determined to purify the universe from Vader’s taint, they would have been safe their entire lives. But they answered to a greater call, and the call had been inside of them ever since their first breath.

Because of that, Luke now came to comprehend — they were Padmé’s; not Vader’s.

Vader might have tainted everything else, but Padmé’s essence within the twins never allowed _him_ to taint them.

Anakin Skywalker knew as much.

“Did you call me here so I would ask for your forgiveness, Leia?”

“You don’t need to waste your breath with that,” she lashed out, followed by a grim, and she couldn’t shake the childish question inside of her whether Force ghosts could actually breathe. “I will _never_ forgive you. You have corrupted everything that I’ve ever known. You destroyed my birth mother, you killed my adoptive parents, you obliterated my home planet. Every major event of my life was marked by you, and not in a good way, and then I come to learn that you are my father, that the same blood runs through our veins. If anything, I will never forgive you for _that._ ”

Not that she wouldn’t forgive him for giving life to her — no, some things simply were beyond her control. However, she would never forgive him for destroying every dream that Padmé had once dreamt for her, for Luke, for them as a family. Although Leia would never ask for a life without her adoptive family, she would never forgive him for stealing that from Padmé.

Accepting her answer, Anakin bowed.

“Then why did you call me _here_ , Leia?” Anakin questioned one again. “If you want to achieve peace of mind again, if you want to find your balance with the universe again, you need to accept yourself. You need to come to terms that where you come from doesn’t dictate who you are. My coming here doesn’t change the essence of who you are. I might have tried to steal the heart from inside you, but that does not define who you are.”

With shaking limbs, Leia forced herself to stand. Luke still right by her side, making sure she would remain strong on her feet. So she would impose and stand tall — because that was all Vader had ever known her for. She refused to offer him any part of her other than her strength, and her willingness to do right what he had wronged.

“Peace of mind? What _peace of mind_ ?” she challenged, her free hand closed tightly in a fist of rage, her other hand squeezing Luke’s fingers, like she drew all her strength from that simple physical link. “Fine. Maybe I did call you here. Maybe I wanted to tell you that you have _ruined_ your very daughter. If I am damaged, it’s because you have _made_ me this way. And I want you to spend the rest of your miserable infinite life agonizing over the things you’ve done to me, to — to someone who came from your own blood…! I _hate_ you, and I want you to know that. You have stolen everything from me, and I refuse to stand here and allow you to steal whatever you left me with.”

Anakin hummed sadly, his gaze dropped to the floor. “If I’m at all responsible for this strong, resilient person that you’ve become, this woman that took it upon herself to bring down an Empire of evil and let nothing, _nothing_ get on her way — not even the death of those she loved the most… Then I have no regrets, Leia.”

Leia felt her eyes burning; _no,_ he didn’t get to praise her, he didn’t get to take credit for what _she_ achieved. He had no right to see _the good_ that she so desperately fought to maintain after he wrecked her. She had fought to overcome the sins he committed against her, she still was, and she’d be damned if she’d let him be the person to determine her strength; she had conquered strength despite him, not because.

“You’re a monster,” she said, her eyes likewise glued to the floor. Her heart was thundering in her throat, and each second longer she stood there, the harder it became to breathe. “Amidst all the terrors that you inflicted me, did you ever learn of whom I was to you? Did you ever learn that I came — from her?”

The semantics didn’t fail Anakin; she had come from _her,_ not from him, and Leia made sure he understood as much.

“I did not,” he answered simply; during Vader’s reign, Anakin had been so lost inside of him that he barely existed. Anakin had been buried so deeply inside that everything that Anakin had once loved and cherished became meaningless. After the loss of Padmé, nothing made sense anymore. Not even his children would have saved him from himself. Even when he learned of Luke’s identity, he had only craved the power the two of them could have shared; never the love a father might have for his son. “I only came to learn about you in the final moments of my life.”

Leia nodded uncomfortably; that did not make her feel better, as she supposed it would. So, she tried, “Would you have done differently, had you known I was your,” she breathed out, and refused to say the word aloud. “For _her_ sake, would you have done differently? Would you have spared Alderaan?”

Anakin dared to look at her again. “I cannot speak for things that never were.”

Leia sighed loudly, leaning slightly more onto her brother. “You knew who Luke was, and you still brought it upon yourself to hurt him immensely,” she accused, “Had you known who I was, you would still have chosen to damage me the same way.”

Sadly, Anakin shook his head. “I most certainly would have.”

Once more, the awareness did not make her feel any better. She still hated him just as much.

“For all the pain that I’ve inflicted upon you, Leia, I can only offer you my sincere apologies,” Anakin spoke from his heart. “In the grand scheme of things, little do they matter.”

He was right about that — his apologies were worthless to her. 

Her eyes, at last, started to sting, and the inevitable questions came to her — why was she doing this to herself? What was she trying to prove? That his presence didn’t affect her? Well — it did, and she _refused_ to put herself through this torture again. She had nothing to prove to him because he meant _nothing_ to her. Her _father_ was Bail Organa, always would be. She didn’t need anything from Anakin. She already had Padmé, and she was all Leia would ever need.

“I’m sorry, Luke,” she choked the words out, “I can’t do this anymore.” 

She let go of his hand — and the shattering of their link was probably the hardest thing she ever did in her life, as it threatened to disrupt the brief balance she had found there with him. Stumbling on her feet, so overwhelmed by her emotions and by the encounter that she had dreaded more than anything, she rushed out of there, never once daring to look back or answer the questions within herself — what had she called him there for, and had she found the answer she so desperately sought for?

“Leia…” Luke called her name softly as she let go of his hand and made her way out. For a brief moment, he struggled with what he should do next — go after her to make sure she was alright, or stay behind and learn what the hell did _Anakin_ want with them — and the answer came to him so easily that it impressed him.

Because there wasn’t a choice. No; there was only _her._ So he blacked out Anakin from his mind and rushed his feet towards the door, determined to go after his sister.

“Luke,” Anakin’s voice called for him, so full of sorrow and longing that it froze Luke within his own body. There he was, hand over the doorknob, decisive to find Leia, yet somehow drawn to the fatherly cry of his name. “You have yet to find what you called me for.”

Luke breathed in heavily; he didn’t _recall_ asking the Force for Anakin’s guidance. He already had Padmé; what else did he need to learn that he couldn’t learn from his own mother?

 _Everything,_ a voice whispered within his mind. Because even though Padmé had been there during Anakin’s fall, had seen it all with her own eyes, only _he_ could answer for what he had done, and what his motivations had been.

But then, there was his sister—

“I have to be with Leia,” he replied simply, mind made up. Yet, he did not bring himself to move.

“Hm,” Anakin hummed gently. He appreciated the allegiance that the twins had forged for themselves; when they could never count on their father, they would always be able to lean on each other for support. “Your loyalty to her is admirable. It is your greatest strength.”

A little ironically, Luke nodded, his eyes still locked to the flat surface of the door in front of him. “A strength that you were willing to exploit aboard the second Death Star when you threatened to corrupt her in my place in order to _break_ me.”

Regretfully, Anakin bowed his head. “Yet, you did not break. Instead, you saved me.”

Another deep breath and Luke at last returned his eyes to his father. Anakin remained peacefully sitting on the floor, his hands clasped in front of him. Anakin’s eyes had long lost the flick of hope; he had nothing left, and that notion brought him torment, but he did not try to go out of his way to change his fate. For once in his life, he accepted it gracefully.

He had already done it once, when Padmé was pregnant with his children, and his determination to play with fate and have her forever cost her her life. He would not do it again; he would not try to contact his children and force them into facing him, _forgiving_ him, if they did not want that.

They had nothing to forgive him for, anyway.

“What do you want with us, Father?” Luke asked, his voice full of agony. He couldn’t shake off the memories from his meditation, the things that he had _seen._ He had once been so blind to Anakin’s commitment to killing Vader, but now that he understood a little more of the things he had done while still carrying the name of Anakin — he struggled to separate the man from the demon. “Haven’t you brought enough suffering to all of us?”

Anakin pressed his lips together; this Luke was so different from the Luke that had saved him from darkness over the moons of Endor; that young man that had been so _determined_ to make him see the light again. Anakin wondered what had happened ever since, or if Luke had simply started seeing him for the horrible things that he did.

If so, Anakin couldn’t blame him.

“I will tell you what I told your sister, son,” Anakin said gravely. “I do not come here seeking penance. I recognize my wrongs, and I accept the inharmony that I’ve brought upon myself, and my ethereal life as a Force being. After everything that I’ve done, I do not seek to disrupt the lives of you and your sister.”

Luke noticed that Anakin never referred to Leia as _his_ daughter, only as Luke’s sister — and that was something; it meant that Anakin was doing his best to respect Leia’s wishes. 

“I’m afraid your mere existence disrupts our peace,” Luke said quietly, crossing his arms against his chest uncomfortably. “I have struggled a lot to accept who I am to you, and it took me a long time to come to terms with it, but I did. The same can’t be said for Leia, and, honestly, father, she’s not under any obligation here.”

“Hm,” Anakin hummed once more. “She is not. I have wronged her in ways I will never forgive myself. I have wronged all of you, my family, my _flesh and blood._ It does not matter that what I did was once out of love; my sins are still my crimes, and there is no justification for them.”

“No. There isn’t,” Luke dropped his gaze to the floor, and he began to anxiously trace invisible lines with his foot. “Padmé… Padmé would be so disappointed. She _is_ disappointed with you, for every misdeed you’ve done in her name.”

And for the first time — Anakin’s face fell. He did not balk when the things that he did were thrown to his face, he did not recoil when he owned up to everything that he had done, but the simple mention of Padmé made it all hurt too deeply.

“Ah,” he moaned softly. “I see that you have come to learn the identity of your mother.”

“Yeah,” Luke agreed harshly and did not deepen into it.

“Your mother — she was the greatest part of me,” Anakin said melancholically, the memory of her face still so vivid in his mind, when Vader had once tried _everything_ to erase her. “I did everything in my power to save her, and in the end, I couldn’t save her from _myself._ I hurt her in the worst way I could possibly hurt her, and then — I killed her, because I couldn’t accept a life without her by my side. There isn’t a day that I don’t think of her, and every day without her is torture.”

Luke swallowed hard, still debating whether he should reveal the truth regarding Padmé. He recalled clearly how _thrilled_ Padmé had become once she learned that Anakin came back in the end, and that even after his death, he would live on forever as a Force being. However, be it from his own newly emerged doubts or from everything that had happened ever since Padmé came back, he couldn’t determine whether she would be just as happy to be resuscitated to Anakin. 

Because she might have loved him once, but a mother’s love for her children transcends a romantic one. Then again, Luke couldn’t know whether he was simply projecting his own insights over Padmé. 

He was only certain of the rage he now felt for Vader, for — Anakin.

“You know — we could have had it all, father!” Luke accused, his emotions taking over him, and for once the prospect of feeling too much didn’t scare him with the possibilities of him turning. Because he was _Padmé’s,_ and there was only good in Padmé; therefore, there was only good in him. He bore no resemblance to the darkness that corrupted Anakin, he was _certain_ as much. “We could have been happy, we could have been — _a family._ Isn’t that what you had always wanted? Because it’s what I’ve spent my _entire_ life searching for. And you stole it from me.”

Luke’s lips started to tremble; he could have had everything, instead, he was thrown aside like he had never mattered at all, to people that barely wanted him. People that never even allowed him to call them _mother and father;_ even if they might have eventually come to care for him, they had never asked for him — like Leia’s parents had _begged_ for her — and they had never demonstrated the unconditional love a parent would feel for their child.

All while he had a living mother _dreaming_ of him every night. If only Anakin — _Vader_ — hadn’t tarnished everything, he could have at least had _her._

“I didn’t know that you and Leia were alive,” Anakin said, and it was true. History went down as Padmé’s child having died alongside her, and that had kept the twins safe until they were old enough to make their own choices. “Had I known, I would have come back for you. I like to believe that I would.”

He couldn’t speak for things that hadn’t happened, but Anakin wanted to believe that his love would transcend to his children; that he would look at them and he would see _her_ and light would prevail over him once more.

Even if Palpatine had demanded that every Force sensitive child be found and terminated, so no one would threaten his power; he wanted to believe that they would save him, so he could save _them._

Luke exhaled exaggeratedly; the mere prospect of what Anakin was suggesting was _absurd;_ he might not have had the greatest childhood, but at least he had been _safe._ There was so much more than so many children could ask for. 

“So Leia and I would have grown up to be little lords of evil?! So you would have tried to erase all the light that we inherited from _her_ and have us follow your steps blindly into the dark?! So we could have led a life of terror and dismay? No, _thank you_.”

“Luke—”

“Padmé is so disappointed with you,” Luke said again, his voice full of anger and misplaced burden. “She is _horrified_ by the things that you’ve done. It haunts her to know that _she_ was responsible for what you’ve become. Even though it was not her fault. How could it be? She only ever chose to _love_ you, and you repaid her love by erasing all the good she worked so hard to bring to the galaxy.”

Anakin tightened his grip around his knees; the memory of his last moment with _his wife_ would always haunt him, and he would never forget the pain and fear in her eyes. The pain and fear that _he_ brought her, despite his pledge to love and protect her from all the evil in the galaxy.

And that’s what he had tried to do; in his despair, he had fought desperately to save her from the cruelty of life and what life might bring. He had never expected that cruelty towards her would emerge from _him,_ though. 

“If there is anything of my past that I’m _content_ with, Luke, is that your mother died before she could see all the evil that I caused. That she didn’t live to know of the suffering that I willingly brought to her children. She wouldn’t have been able to _breathe_ if she learned of the hurt I’ve brought you because there was nothing that she loved more than the two of you.”

Luke swallowed hard; he understood that that knowledge brought Padmé immeasurable suffering day after day, and she was forced to live with the _guilt_ of being somehow responsible for the hurting bestowed upon them. And he had been so immersed in his own grief that he had rarely acknowledged her own trauma, and how the things that had happened in the past killed a part of her every day. When she needed him the most, he had turned his back on her, and he hadn’t seen the fault in his deeds until now.

Luke promised he would do better. That he would _be_ better; for Leia, for Padmé, for the galaxy. He would do everything in his power to heal the wounds that Vader had so mercilessly lavished on them all.

And the first step in doing so was to tell Anakin that he was mistaken.

“You’re wrong.”

Anakin eyed him, puzzledly. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re wrong,” Luke repeated himself, forcing himself to look at his father as the words made it past his lips, “Padmé — _lives._ ”

If Anakin Skywalker hadn’t already become a ghost — he would have certainly become one _now._ His son was trying to pull a joke on him, and it wasn’t funny, and he wasn’t deserving of it. He deserved all the pain and all the suffering, on a higher scale than the hurting he had inflicted, but not that. To even joke that Padmé, the love of his life, had lived to see his doom — it was wrong.

“ _No_ , you’re lying,” he imposed, his voice on the edge of cracking, and there was a sight Luke never thought he would see — the man that was once Vader _cracking._ “Padmé _died._ I stole the breath from her, I saw her collapse with my own eyes. If she were alive, I would have known — !”

“Nope,” Luke refuted everything without any eloquence. He hugged himself tighter, his mind replacing the coldness with the warmth of all the memories he had with his mother ever since she came back to his life. “Padmé lives. She came back for us — for Leia and me.”

And she came back because of _Vader;_ because the man that had killed her had finally died, and she could come back to life again, and be with the children that _he_ stole from her. Although Luke didn’t say it aloud, the thought was there, and it was nearly deafening.

If it weren’t all too _surreal,_ Luke would have laughed at the absurdity of the tears now streaming down Anakin’s face.

“Padmé… lives?”

Luke shifted uncomfortably on his feet, now starting to feel a little bad; before him stood a man that was clearly head over heels for Padmé Amidala, a man that had hurt and killed all because he thought his deeds would save her, and when they didn’t, he hurt and killed even more because she was _dead,_ and his happiness had been stolen from him, so he thought it right to steal the happiness from everybody else. Vader became a victim of his own grief, and Luke wondered if history would have followed any differently if Vader had come to learn that the love of his life still lived, that his _children_ still lived, and he could have had a second chance, if only he renounced the darkness inside of him.

“Padmé lives,” Luke assured, but his voice didn’t hold the usual eagerness that came with that notion; not because he was mad at her, or resented her, but because he found himself in an impossible situation in which he found himself conflicted; he wanted Anakin to ache for everything that he put Padmé through, at the same time that he hated coming to understand that everything Anakin did, he did it for _her._

With his chest exploding with the pain he was feeling, Anakin brought his hands to his face, and before he could take a moment to recompose his emotions, the weight of that realization crushed over him and he sobbed into his hands. He let out every tear Vader that never allowed Anakin to shed after they _both_ brought Padmé to her demise.

Every passing second, Luke’s heart became tighter inside of him. Anakin was in pain, and not an excruciating physical one; his soul hurt, and Luke was too familiar with that kind of aching. Because of that, Luke’s compassion briefly eviscerated all the conflict he still had inside of him, and he felt sorry for Anakin.

He wished Leia was still here with him; not so she would share any of Luke’s feelings herself, but so she’d come to understand a little more about the man that had given them life, and the reasons for his turning. Just as he was starting to learn.

Because Anakin had always been a myth to him; this figure greater than life that Luke never got to know in his life. Everything he knew about the man that had fathered him came to him by word of mouth, and he was just getting to _see_ his father for the first time ever since he learned of him.

“Padmé is the love of my life,” Anakin choked, unable to regain control of his emotions. “ _Nothing_ hurts me more than knowing how heartbroken she is with me. She is the best part of me, she is _everything_ to me. The pain that I’ve caused — I have failed her in every way that I could, when she was the epitome of good and fairness.”

“Yeah,” Luke agreed sadly, his tone not as harsh and as accusing as before. “Her being here… helps me understand my past, my _origins._ Knowing what took place, though, hurts more than the physical pain that I endured under your grasp.”

“I am sorry, Luke,” Anakin cried, struggling with his words. “ _For everything_.”

Luke chewed on his inner cheeks, looking down on the man fallen in front of him with pity. “I forgive you. I forgive you, _Anakin._ Nobody should ever have to suffer for love. However, I do not forgive Vader. I will never bring myself to forgive Vader, or the things that he did. Neither will I demand forgiveness from either Padmé and Leia in your name. They are entitled to their own resolutions, and they’re not obliged to forgive you for the crimes you committed against them.”

He thought of his vision of the past, where he had seen Vader almost steal the life away from Padmé in his anger; he thought of the day he met Leia and he came to find her inside her cell aboard the Death Star so determined to be strong while also being so — sad. These were the greatest women he had ever met, and he bowed before their grandiosity; not Anakin’s.

“I wouldn’t expect you to, nor them to,” Anakin breathed in a long breath out of habit, at last lowering his hands to show his wettened faces. “But I am _happy_ that she has found her way to you. Luke, your mother was the happiest during her pregnancy, she glowed with the light of the children inside of her. She loved you _so much,_ ever since she first learned of you. Although I don’t know how or why the three of you came to be separated, I am _so happy_ that she has you, and you have her. You are finally the family that she longed for.”

Luke stopped the grim from taking over his face — well, _family_ was a strong word for the place they were as of now. But they would come through it, Luke felt it strong in his bones. They just had to swim through the troubled waters that the civil war — that _Vader_ — had left them to drown in first.

They had survived everything else. They would survive this too.

Anakin wasn’t entitled to _his family’s_ current state of affairs, though. On a more selfish, sardonic note, Luke wanted him to believe he was missing out on what _he_ had always wanted.

“Padmé is very thrilled to be here,” Luke said with a sober tone. “She isn’t all too pleased to learn what you did to her children, though.”

Anakin lowered his head in shame. Padmé was in her very right never to forgive him, be it Anakin or Vader. He had failed her when he bore both names. 

“As she shouldn’t be.”

At last, Luke’s arms dropped to his sides, and he held his fists tightly closed amidst his nervousness as a strange feeling that he needed to be somewhere else came to him. He needed to be with the women of his life, just to visually certify that they were both alive and breathing; standing there with Anakin only reminded him of the fragility of life, and how it all could disappear in a blink of eyes. 

“I… I should go,” he rambled, thinking of his sister that had stormed out from there, “Leia needs me.”

“Of course,” Anakin sadly agreed, but it was clear that his mind resided elsewhere — with the woman he had left for dead but had been alive all this time. “Have you found what you called me for?”

Luke made a face to himself.

“I… I don’t know. I’m not exactly sure of what I’m searching for.”

“Hm,” he said, “Whenever you accept the quest inside of you, I will be here.”

Luke accepted it, ready to leave without bidding farewell.

“Luke?” Anakin called for him one last time, and his voice was smaller than ever before. “Will you tell your mother that I love her?”

Compressing his lips in a thin line, Luke simply nodded. He didn’t think it was a fair request, considering everything that Vader had done, but he assumed that Padmé would like to hear it one last time from Anakin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do confess i must have rewritten this chapter about three times this week, and then i accidentally ended up with a 16k words chapter that was faded into being split in two, oop-
> 
> are you happy with it? please tell me you're happy. i need you to be happy.


	31. Thirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it does make me the happiest when y'all spot my references, so kudos to the two people who noticed the moana reference in the last chapter ksdjfhskjfh

Leia kept her head high and her composure intact as she rushed through the headquarters of the rebel base, although she didn’t know for how long she would be able to hold herself together. Her fists tightly closed to her side, the droplets of sweat across her forehead, her lungs exploding with oxygen — all signs that she was on the edge of collapsing.

She wasn’t — she wasn’t about to have another panic attack, or at least she didn’t think she was. She was rather composed, despite her fast heartbeat and her rapid breath — or she liked to believe she was — all she needed was to find herself a quiet corner where she would be alone, away from the public eye, and she would scream. Just scream.

She felt detached from her body; ever since she connected herself to the Force, asking for a better understanding of who she was and everything that happened to make her the person she was today. In return, the Force had given her  _ Anakin Skywalker,  _ and she couldn’t bring herself to comprehend what that confrontation would offer her.

_ It gave her a chance to tell him to his face how much she hated him,  _ but other than it, she doubted anything  _ good  _ could come to her. Did the Force want her to see that Anakin was once a person, a loving and  _ loved  _ person? Did the Force want her to confront her most sacred fears? Did the Force want her to  _ forgive _ ?

Leia closed her eyes tightly, letting nothing more than muscle memory guide her across the crowded halls of the headquarters — and  _ maybe  _ a little insight from her empirical power with the Force — so she wouldn’t start crying in public. All she needed was a hiding place, be it her private room or the Millennium Falcon or the first closet she came across, just somewhere secluded where she could let it all out and call Vader every name she could think of and maybe even punch a wall.

Then she would be all right. She believed she would. 

She just wondered what the hell had Anakin meant when he said  _ she had called him there.  _ That was impossible, Leia would  _ never  _ willingly call for the demon that had tortured her and destroyed her world for fun. She wanted nothing to do with that monster; she had already seen him too much in his life, she didn’t need to deal with him in his death.

Although — she already  _ was.  _ Vader had haunted her ever since she had been held in the Death Star, granted, but it had only gotten worse after she learned she was descended to him. She had always hated him, for the crimes committed not only against her but to the rest of the galaxy, but now she was disgusted, and her disgust wasn’t directed solely at  _ him.  _ And it didn’t make sense, because those feelings never extended to Luke, only to herself.

What was the Force trying to tell her? What did  _ she  _ want with Anakin Skywalker? Was confronting him the only way she would ever accept who she was?

She forced herself to take a deep breath; was there a way she could magically skip to her self resolution?

“Leia?”

Padmé had been engaged in a deep political discussion with Mon Mothma in the middle of the rebel base when she spotted a certain familiar face rushing across the halls, and she frowned. She hadn’t seen Leia for a few days now — neither of the twins, for what mattered — in desperate attempts of giving them some space to breathe, and the circumstances of their last encounter hadn’t been the best. However, seeing Leia like  _ that,  _ desperate trying to make it past the two women without being seen, awoke a sixth sense in her that demanded she interfered. After that, Mon Mothma faded into the background and Padmé’s mind resided solely with the princess. 

And the princess — she didn’t even look that out of her ordinary, any bystander wouldn’t have noticed the minor signs that she was  _ not  _ all that well. Even to Padmé, it had taken her a long time to start picking up the little indications; the hands clenched in fists of anxiety, the lips pressed hard in a thin line, the cheeks paler than their usual color, everything that screamed at Padmé that — she needed to intervene, even if her intrusion wasn’t all that welcomed.

Leia froze on her path at the sound of her name, and she knew exactly to whom that voice belonged. Even more, she had mildly noticed the presence of the two older women as she passed by them, and she unconsciously picked up her pacing in prayers she wouldn’t be noticed. Yet, she was. 

And for reasons she could not understand, hearing Padmé’s voice made everything harder. That sweet, caring voice that had always gone out of her way to make sure Leia  _ knew  _ she would be there for her, no matter the circumstances, no matter where in their relationship they might be. That voice was enough to enhance even the most hidden emotions of her heart.

And that was why she stopped on her path, unable to ignore the motherly call of her name. However, she did not bring herself to turn around to face them.

Understanding the importance of personal place —  _ especially  _ when it came to Leia — Padmé stayed put, while her heart pounded a little faster inside of her and her brain tried to come up with ways she could help without making things worse. By now, Mon Mothma’s undivided attention also laid over the young princess, and she remained silent as well. Despite her easy relationship with Leia — and probably  _ because  _ of it — she was well aware of how reserved Leia was as a person, so being there under the scrutiny of their eyes couldn’t be easy.

It was Padmé who took the initiative to ask, “Are you all right, Leia?”

Leia closed her eyes tightly, impeding her emotions from starting to  _ leak  _ at a simple question. Just a casual question —! That she would normally answer to and then excuse herself and leave.

“No—yes! I am  _ fine, _ ” Leia stumbled on her own words and damned herself for it. “I just need to…  _ go _ .”

If only her eloquence and her raising as a royal princess hadn’t failed her.

Padmé frowned, exchanging a worrisome with Mon, but her eyes soon returned to Leia’s silhouette. 

“Leia,” she said carefully, “If that’s so, then why can’t you look at us?”

Feeling like she was back in her interrogation cell, Leia wrapped her arms around herself. 

“I just need,” she said again, her voice hoarse and small, “To go.”

The mother wondered why, if Leia so desperately needed to go, hadn’t she left already.

Padmé offered Mon a look that said they would continue their conversation later, and Mon agreed gracefully to it — but she did not bring herself to leave mother and daughter just yet, not until she was certain Leia would accept Padmé’s companionship.

Like she shared her old friend’s apprehension, Padmé warily walked up to Leia. She waited for Leia to acknowledge her presence there, and she knew Leia had when her face became tenser as she tried harder to constrain her emotions. Unsure if that would be the best course of action, but not knowing how else to proceed, Padmé gently placed her hand behind Leia’s back.

Leia shivered at the small touch of comfort but didn’t pull away.

“Come on,” Padmé softly instructed, “Let’s go. My bunk is just ahead.”

Leia had no idea what compelled her to so promptly agree, but before she could stop to process anything, she found herself in the quiet privacy of Padmé’s chamber. Standing in the middle of the room, facing the wall so she wouldn’t have to look at Padmé. Heart thundering in her throat.

Because at the same time she was  _ so relieved  _ not to be alone with her thoughts, she also was terrified of Padmé next to her — and it didn’t have anything to do with  _ Padmé’s  _ presence precisely, only with the issues surfacing Leia’s own self.

And Padmé tried to give her as much space as she could, even if she had no idea what had happened. 

“You are safe here, Leia,” Padmé said after a whole eternity of silence and stillness. “Sit down, make yourself comfortable. Nothing can get to you here.”

And an irrational part of Leia wanted to ask Padmé to  _ promise  _ so, to guarantee that no Force ghost would be getting through that door.

And almost like Padmé could read her mind—

“I promise.”

Leia took in a deep breath — she believed her.

Trying to force the tension out of her bones, Leia sat down at the edge of Padmé’s bed, keeping her head down and her knees strongly pressed together. She noticed Padmé’s efforts of keeping her distance, of not jumping the gun and taking a seat next to Leia without invitation, and Leia appreciated it. And Leia couldn’t tell if it were the augmentation of her feelings, or the accumulation of everything that was happening, that led her into prompting, without any proper thinking—

“I saw Vader,” she said, her voice hoarse and barely hearable. She grimaced to herself, unsure if it made a difference, but she was compelled to correct herself, “ _ Anakin.  _ I saw… Anakin.”

Padmé’s eyes enlarged, and she uncomfortably wrapped her arms around herself. Her face remained blank, diplomatically emotionless — she understood very well the importance of refraining herself from showing feelings of hatred or happiness for either of those names.

“How did it go?”

“Horribly,” Leia confessed, her throat constricted. “I don’t… I don’t think I was ready for that confrontation.”

Padmé nodded discreetly, trying to assess as quickly as she could the best approach. And it was so difficult, because not only she had no knowledge whatsoever of this  _ Force Ghost business,  _ but she was also so terrified of saying the wrong thing.

Luckily for her, Leia didn’t maintain her silence. “It’s so funny, because I’ve faced Vader so many times in his life, both before and after the things he did to me, to my family, and I always,  _ always  _ stood tall in front of him. I wanted to show him that even though he might try, he would never break me. So I always kept my head high. I always wanted him to  _ understand  _ that I was stronger than him, always would be. Now, in his death… I start to think that maybe… I am not.”

Her statement was followed by a nervous chuckle, and Leia clasped her hands together in her lap, so her nails would stop impetuously finding their way deep into the palm of her hands. She waited, but she wouldn’t blame Padmé if she found herself out of words as well.

“I think, Leia,” Padmé hesitantly took a step forward, “That you were forced into a confrontation that you were not ready for. You saw the man that so deeply hurt you redeemed when his crimes were unforgivable. It’s not your obligation to feel  _ good  _ about it, and neither does anyone expect you to. However, this does not make you any less strong.”

In response, Leia pressed her lips tightly together; her face was whiter by the moment, and Padmé couldn’t help herself but to silently curse —  _ damn you, Anakin. _

Because Padmé had seen this before when she fought in her own war. She stood by the side of innocent lives that lost everything, that lost all their loved ones, and were left with nothing but the visceral reaction of shock. And with deep regret, Padmé understood that Anakin was the embodiment of all bad things to Leia.

Even if Anakin had long taken Vader’s place. It didn’t matter; Anakin was just as responsible as Vader.

Keeping her head straight — and far away from  _ ex-husbands  _ — Padmé followed to the trunk next to her bed and retrieved a blanket from there, which she took the liberty to fold around Leia. The princess met it with utmost surprise but did not reject it.

“You’re trembling.”

“Oh,” Leia enunciated quietly, her hands pulling the tender fabric of the blanket closer around her. “Thank you.”

Padmé nodded, dismissing the need for gratification. “Can I sit with you?”

“Y—yeah,” Leia said, “I think you can.”

Padmé would have appreciated a little more conviction than that, but she didn’t want to press the young girl — nor cause an explosive reaction. So, she sat down on the mattress with her while trying to seem more relaxed than Leia’s petrified stance by the edge of the bed, leaning on the back wall for support.

Padmé was surprised to see Leia do the same. Maybe she was automatically mimicking Padmé, maybe Padmé’s easy composure had assured her that this was a safe place; either way, Padmé was a little more relieved to see the tension slowly leaving Leia’s body and mind.

Once more, Leia took a deep breath, with her eyes closed and her head anchored against the wall.

“He told me that I called for him,” she confessed, lower than a whisper, “Luke and I — we were meditating, and apparently we both called for him. But I… I did not want to see him, or have to deal with him. I don’t know why I called him, because Anakin  _ taints  _ everything.”

Padmé listened in silence, without interrupting.

“ _ Vader.  _ I meant — Vader,” and then, her hands were pressed against her face.

“You’re not under any obligation to discern them apart,” Padmé said gently, “Anakin is Vader, and Vader is Anakin. They might bear different names, and different identities, but in the end — they’re still the same man.”

Like that was exactly what she needed to hear, Leia slowly allowed gravity to pull her hands down.

“It doesn’t bother you? To hear me dismissing Anakin for what Vader did when Anakin once meant everything to you?”

Leia looked down at her hands.

“I don’t want you to hate me.”

Padmé looked at her with sad eyes. “Leia, I could never hate you,” she assured, “Vader did terrible things to me and to other people while I still knew him as Anakin. While I stood face to face with him and told him I loved him, that we could have lived  _ happily  _ if he only gave up this new power of his. Anakin — chose Vader, over me, over our children. For that, I will never forgive him.”

Leia listened to the story uncomfortably, but for once in her life, she did not run away from the simple mention of  _ their  _ name.

“It must have been horrible,” Leia added quietly, “To see him fall, when you still had so much love to offer him.”

“It wasn’t easy,” she agreed morosely, “It didn’t even compare to the pain of losing my unborn children. That sort of pain… If I were Force sensitive, I would have probably fallen as well.”

Leia chuckled softly. “You wouldn’t. You’re a good person.”

“So are you, Leia,” Padmé spoke a little harsher than before. “Speaking of which…”

Sensing where the conversation was about to head towards, Leia pulled her legs close to her chest, making herself very small. “We — We don’t have to talk about that.”

“Yes, we do,” and just like that, Padmé’s voice was gentle once more. “What I said to you was… inadmissible. And for that, I apologize.”

Leia pulled the blanket so they were covering her legs as well. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Padmé said, and she reached out to touch Leia’s knees. “I am sorry, Leia. I truly am. I need you to understand that what I said came from an elemental fear that I might lose another person to the Dark side, not because… Not because  _ you  _ are going to fall.”

“I understand,” she said, her voice hoarse. “It’s okay, Padmé. It’s not something that I haven’t thought about myself. It’s not something that I don’t fear whenever a flick of anger comes to me.”

Padmé shook her head. “ _ You  _ are a  _ good  _ person, Leia. So what if you feel a little angry from time to time? You’re entitled to, after everything. So long as you’re not using your anger to inflict pain on others… There’s nothing wrong with feeling that way.”

Leia smiled, but her smile was full of shame. “I’ve directed my anger at Luke and at Han and…  _ at you…  _ far too many times already. That’s inexcusable.”

“You have,” Padmé agreed without a second thought. “Because you are  _ grieving,  _ and you’re so desperate to stop hurting that you direct your feelings towards us,  _ hoping,  _ just hoping that for the briefest moment we will carry your grief for you, and you’ll get to breathe.”

Leia wanted to hide herself.

“And the answer to that, Leia,” Padmé carried on, “Yes, we will. For as long as you need us to, we will carry your grief for you.”

Leia shut her eyes tightly, her hands now clasped together in front of her mouth. “I’m  _ sorry _ .”

“No, come on,” Padmé’s spare hand instinctively flew to Leia’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “You have absolutely  _ nothing  _ to apologize for. I won’t let you apologize for your grief.”

A little shaky, Leia nodded with her head, but could not bring herself to open her eyes again.

“You said you didn’t know what you called Anakin for,” Padmé continued, looking intensely at her daughter even if Leia refused to look back. “I think I do.”

Leia waited, barely moving.

“I think you needed to see him to  _ understand  _ that you’re not him. Your bloodline — it doesn’t matter, you’re so much more than that. You needed to see him one last time to remind yourself that  _ you  _ are  _ strong.  _ You’re so strong, Leia, and you are responsible for your own choices, just like he was. So, you chose to let him in, to show  _ him  _ how infinitely better you are than him. You are the man that he never got to be — and do forgive me for my outdated patriarchal vocabulary, Leia, but that’s what you are. You are  _ better  _ than Anakin.”

Before she could stop herself, Leia laughed at her last words, and she wasn’t even sure if Padmé had been trying to be funny with them. Still, she laughed, and Padmé was compelled to join her in her giggle. 

At last, Leia turned her head to face Padmé. Her eyes were red, yet they sparkled with the light of her being. 

“Thank you, Padmé,” she said, from her heart. “For everything.”

Padmé simply bowed her head in acknowledgment, and Leia was staring ahead at the wall again. Pleased with the course their conversation had taken, Padmé did the same, breaking the links of their physical connection. Content to let a comfortable silence reign for as long as Leia wanted.

“I had a few visions,” Leia said, after a few moments of profound quietude. “While we were meditating. I had never meditated before, and Luke convinced me to, he said it would be good for me. And — it was. I genuinely believe it was. I came to understand things that I was prejudicial of before.”

Padmé leaned in, interested, but did not push her into talking.

“Mostly… I just saw you. You and Anakin,” Leia confessed, gazing down once more. “He… He loved you very much.”

Padmé hummed but did not bring herself to comment on it.

“I know you’ve said how deeply you loved one another before, but it was all… so abstract to me. The idea of Anakin loving someone — it was an absurd thought because Vader only ever knew hatred. But today… I felt it. I felt the love you had for one another. And before it became tainted, it was  _ beautiful. _ ”

Padmé nodded melancholically. “It was. I was Anakin’s everything. He loved me like I was his sun, and he relied on me to survive. And his love, this love bigger than life, led him to his downfall.”

“It… It also saved him,” Leia said hesitantly, and Padmé glanced at her curiously. “I mean, he came back because of his love for Luke. He couldn’t save you back then, so he chose to redeem himself by saving his son, his last reminder… of  _ you _ .”

And if she could simply erase everything that Vader did in between, that thought would be  _ so beautiful.  _

“Does that bother you?” Padmé prompted, “If only he had  _ loved  _ you, maybe Alderaan would have been saved?”

Leia shivered under the mention of her dead planet, and Padmé grimaced at the result of her poor word choice. “No, I… I don’t want Vader’s love. I understand why Luke needs it, because he spent his entire life searching for whom he  _ was,  _ but — that’s not me. I had, I  _ have  _ a very strong father figure in my life, and his love is all I’ll ever need.”

She relaxed her legs, allowing them to fall in front of her.

“I try my best not to focus on things that could have been,” Leia said, “They don’t matter. They won’t bring Alderaan back.”

Padmé simply nodded; nothing she said would erase the devastation that Alderaan’s destruction brought.

“Leia,” she said her name hesitantly as she chewed on her inner cheeks, thinking of the best approach to her following query. “I know I have asked this before, but it’s been a long time and things have spiraled drastically ever since, and… I need to ask you again,” she prompted delicately, “Do you ever think… about hurting yourself?”

Padmé stared at the princess with her heart in her throat; she was terrified of the answer. And Leia’s answer took forever to come.

“I do not,” Leia said, and even though her voice was faint, there was conviction there. Yet, she felt it important to slightly turn her head towards Padmé and add, “I promise.”

“Okay,” she swallowed hard, allowing herself to breathe again. “I still need you to promise that, if the most remote thought dares to come to your mind, you will reach out. To Han, to Luke, to —  _ Mon Mothma, _ to whoever it might be. But you need to promise me you will reach out.”

Leia wetted her lips with her tongue; suddenly, she felt very small.

“You didn’t include yourself on the list.”

Padmé did not appreciate Leia’s attempt on shifting the subject, but she answered nonetheless. “I didn’t want to impose. Not when I don’t know if you want me on the list.”

Leia nodded slowly, her lips now pouting.

“I do.”

If Padmé felt tears tingling her eyes, she ignored them. Instead, she waited in silence for Leia to answer her question, while trying to contain her exploding heart inside her chest.

_ Leia wanted her in her life.  _ Her heart had been craving for that forever.

“And I promise,” Leia added nervously after a little while. “To reach out, if things get harder.”

Appreciating it, Padmé placed her hand over Leia’s knees again and offered it a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you.”

Whether she was thanking for Leia’s promise or Leia’s willingness to now include Padmé in her life, neither woman could tell.

“I would like to give you something,” Padmé said abruptly, her sweet tone carrying out. “I don’t know if it would serve you any purpose, or if it would even help you. However… I do think it would do you good.”

Leia returned her eyes to the mother, resembling interest while still keeping a certain amount of dread. She watched curiously as Padmé reached out under her blouse and pulled a pendant from her neck.

The princess tilted her head sideways, thinking. She had seen Padmé wearing the pendant a few times, and it must have meant something so she would never take it off, even if she kept it hidden most of the time. Leia squinted her eyes, looking at it closely; she had seen it before, in her vision while she meditated, a young boy giving the most childish belonging to a young girl—

“Before I give it to you,” Padmé announced, “I will tell you of its origins. I don’t want you to be panicked again, so if it brings you any feelings of discomfort, you will tell me and you will never see it again,” she took a deep breath, “This snippet was made by—”

“Anakin,” Leia finished for her, and she could not remove her eyes from it. Allured by it, like that tiny little object was calling for her. She hesitantly raised her fingers in the air until she was touching it, her fingertips feeling the carvings in the japor. She was enhanced by it.

Padmé did her best not to frown, both at Leia’s prior knowledge of its origins and at her sudden easy reaction to the snippet’s mere existence. Although she truly wanted Leia to have it, to help her understand a little more of her past, she had not expected it to go so smoothly.

Neither in a million years did she think that she would be ever passing down an heirloom to her  _ daughter _ .

Upon Padmé’s agreement, Leia took the japor snippet into her hands and brought it close to her. Close to her  _ heart  _ as she deeply studied the pendant.

“Anakin made it for you when he was no more than a child,” Leia said, her vision still fixated on it, so she did not see Padmé’s immediate reaction to her words. “Because he didn’t want you to forget him.”

Padmé was more abashed by the second; how could Leia possibly know of that—

“I saw it in a vision,” Leia said, sensing the question on Padmé’s mind. “The Force… Showed it to me, and not even one hour later you are giving it to me.”

She was intrigued, if anything, at how or why the Force assumed that was what she needed.

And what did she know — maybe,  _ it was _ .

Yet—

“I appreciate it, Padmé, more than you can possibly think,” she started, “But I can’t have this. It means  _ so much  _ to you. I can feel it when I hold it in my hands, just how much strength you have found on it for the past many years. It wouldn’t be right for me to steal this strength from you.”

“It’s okay, Leia,” Padmé assured, “I have found my strength somewhere else.”

Leia wanted to smile at the implication. Instead, she shook her head.

“I don’t want you to  _ forget  _ him.”

Padmé wondered if that was Leia’s unconscious fear of anything relating to Anakin manifesting.

“Tell you what,” Padmé suggested, “I’m not giving it to you. Only lending it, alright? And once you’ve determined that you have gained everything that you could from it, you’ll give it back. Okay?”

Leia chuckled soundlessly. “What about Luke? He deserves this more than me. He  _ craves  _ for this connection to his past.”

“Maybe he does deserve it more than you, but right now, you need it more than him. He’ll understand,” Padmé said. “Besides, you can give it to him once you’re done with it.”

“You mean lend it to him.”

Padmé rolled her eyes affectionately. “Sure, Leia.”

“Okay,” Leia accepted the answer gladly and returned her unconditional attention to fumbling with the snippet in her hands. “Would you… Would you mind telling me the story behind it? I… I don’t want to impose… I just want to try and  _ understand _ .”

“I’d love to, Leia,” Padmé beamed shyly. “But are you sure this is what you want? I don’t want it — to make things worse.”

“I’m okay,” Leia replied coolly, and even though it wasn’t exactly the answer Padmé was looking for, she was forced to content.

“Well,” Padmé took her time to visit the past, traveling back to when she was just a teenager trying to make her stance as the Queen of Naboo. “I was fourteen year old, and I had just been elected the Queen of Naboo when the Trade Federation took control of my planet. They went as far as trying to get me to sign a treaty that would legitimize their invasion in the eyes of the Republic. From one monarch to one another, I’m sure you understand that I would do everything in my power before I let anything bad happen to my people.”

Once she heard her own words aloud, she grimaced to herself. She couldn’t understand how she managed to be  _ so stupid  _ when it came to her daughter — the princess that had watched the very destruction of her world without being able to do anything to save her people, and Padmé failed to do the bare minimum of weighing her words.

What surprised her, though, was that Leia failed to make said connection. She was simply so focused on the pendant in her hands that all her grief had been momentarily put aside.

Clearing her throat, Padmé judged that the best course of action was to carry on as if nothing had happened before Leia had the chance to draw the comparison herself.

“The Jedi came to Naboo, determined to help me negotiate with the Trade Federation, but, of course, they weren’t nicely received. We had no other choice but to escape, for our lives were in danger and I knew I had to reach the Senate to  _ beg  _ for their help. It pained me so deeply to leave my people behind, under the Federation’s occupation, but sometimes the only choices you have are bad ones, and you still have to choose. So I chose to pledge my life to the Senate if it meant they would help me save my people.”

Leia smiled faintly; she didn't doubt that Padmé Amidala had once been a great astute politician — she had to be, otherwise, she wouldn't have been elected the monarch of an entire planet just at the age of fourteen. She smiled because she would like to know a little more about this politician. 

After all, diplomacy was her entire life. It had been, ever since she was a child. Of course, diplomacy came with the Alderaanian crown, but Leia strongly believed there was more to it than just duty. It was her calling, it was in her blood — it was the greatest way she knew of how to make a difference. 

“You and I are very alike,” she commented softly. “Politically, I mean.”

Leia pressed her thumbs alongside the japor, allowing herself to think. 

“From what I understand, we were both put in impossible situations to save, or fail, our people. We both had to gamble with the power we were given, and just  _ pray  _ that the outcome would be good. When Grand Moff Tarkin told me what he would do to Alderaan if I didn't disclose the location of the rebel base, I  _ knew  _ I had to do something. I couldn't just stay there and  _ allow  _ them to take Alderaan from me without a fight. So, I told them: Dantooine, the rebellion was hiding in Dantooine. Which, of course they weren't, but there was an abandoned base in Dantooine, so even though I was lying, I wasn't that far from the truth. But they… They didn't even bother to learn if I was telling the truth at that moment or not. They killed Alderaan nonetheless. I gambled, and I lost, because the Empire is cruel, and I was never meant to win.  _ Alderaan  _ was always doomed to its end, ever since I was brought aboard the Death Star. But you… You didn't fail. You held your head high and you saved your people the most honorable way you knew how to. And I think that's beautiful.”

Padmé listened to her words with a tight heart; no matter how much time had passed, she still didn't know how to properly respond whenever Leia brought up Alderaan. And she didn't want it to become a taboo; she  _ needed  _ Leia to understand that so long as she lived and remembered Alderaan, Alderaan would live as well. 

“I’m sorry, I didn't even let you finish your story,” Leia apologized, “Politics is my safe harbor. Talking about  _ him  _ — is not.”

Padmé nodded respectfully. “We don't have to talk about him, Leia.”

“No, we do,” Leia protested softly. “He — he was just a child. He couldn't have done any  _ evil.  _ Could he?”

Padmé shook her head. 

“And I… I trust you. You’re a clever woman, and I trust your instincts. You wouldn't have fallen in love with somebody who was inherently evil.”

All things considered, Padmé appreciated her leap of faith. When at first Leia couldn’t forgive her for falling in love with Vader, it now meant  _ everything.  _

“Mind you, I didn't fall in love with  _ child  _ Anakin,” Padmé humored, “Although I was a couple of years older than him, I was just a child myself.”

Leia hummed. “I’m not sure there's much childhood left when a crown is placed on your head at the age of fourteen.”

“No, probably not,” Padmé chuckled, and her face became serious. “You see, although Ani was still a child in age, he never got to be a child, either. And to him, it wasn't by  _ choice. _ ”

Leia tensed on her place, and although she still hung tightly to the pendant, her fingers were no longer rubbing it. 

“Is it… A sad story?”

Padmé smiled sadly. “I’m afraid it is.”

Leia took in a loud breath. “Okay.”

And when she didn't ask they would stop there, Padmé started talking. 

“Once we left Naboo, our ship broke down, and we immediately needed repairs if we were to make it safely to Coruscant. So, we landed in Tatooine, and Master Qui-Gon Jinn and I followed to Mos Esley, hoping we would be able to get the ship parts that we needed, except — you see, Tatooine is in the middle of nowhere. It did not obey the Republic’s laws, neither did it accept the Republic’s credits, and we were stranded there, with no means of getting help.”

Padmé breathed in heavily, preparing herself for the moment.

“...And that’s when I met Anakin.”

Next to her, Leia became still. So still she could be easily mistaken for dead.

But the request to stop the story did not come, so Padmé continued. “Anakin… was just a child. Maybe nine or ten, I’m not certain. And Anakin was crucial to helping us leave Tatooine and head back to the Core Worlds. You see, there’s nothing that the people of Tatooine liked to do more than to gamble, and Boonta Eve Classic was about to take place and Anakin… Anakin offered to compete in the podrace for us, and give us the money necessary for us to buy the ship parts and go.”

Leia was holding the snippet so hard that her fingers were turning white. “Just like that? He didn’t ask for anything in return?”

“Getting to compete was already big compensation for him,” Padmé reminisced fondly. “He didn’t have  _ anything  _ on Tatooine, so racing was one of his few pleasures in life. Of course, everybody had their reservations about Ani taking part in the race, after all, he was just a child, but Ani was so adamant about it. He told his mother that the biggest problem in the universe was that nobody helped each other, and… He had such a giant heart. Even when we were just strangers to him, he had so much  _ will  _ to love; he was a remarkable child.”

Leia listened in silence.

“But Master Qui-Gon wouldn’t let Anakin risk his life for nothing. Determined to help Anakin and his mother the most he could, he made a deal with Watto—”

“Who’s Watto?” Leia asked impetuously. 

“He was a Toydarian, who owned the shop from which we hoped to get the ship parts from, and…” she looked attentively at Leia, bracing herself for the next part, “He was also Anakin’s owner.”

And just like that, the snippet fell from Leia’s hands, landing on her lap, and she did not make the effort to pick it back up.

Padmé tried to read Leia’s sudden reaction, but apart from the color once more draining from her face, she could not tell what was going through Leia’s mind. All she knew was that the request for a pause did not come.

“I, ern… Master Qui-Gon made a deal with Watto, so if Anakin won, Watto would get all the money for himself, except for the necessary to buy the ship parts, and… And he would have to free Anakin. Slaves in Tatooine had bombs implanted under their skins that would go off if they tried to escape, and… Watto would have to defuse the bomb, and Anakin would come with us to the Capital, where he would have a better life.”

Padmé left her eyes on Leia, waiting for any sign that Leia had had enough. Instead, the princess remained perfectly still, barely blinking.

“As Master Qui-Gon had foreseen, Anakin won the race, and he was posed the hardest question of his life so far: to come to Coruscant to become a Jedi, or to stay behind with his mother — because, despite Qui-Gon’s unmeasurable efforts, he could not get Watto to free his mother as well. And it broke his mother’s heart just as it did his, but no mother would wish their sons to have a life of slavery and endless suffering. So, she encouraged Ani to come along, and he did. It was the hardest choice of his life, but he chose to be strong. As we left Tatooine, he didn’t look back. And I know his mother was the proudest.

“He gave me the japor snippet on our way to Coruscant, in his moment of weakness. He was aching for his mother, and he was terrified that she would forget him. So, he gave me the pendant; it was said to bring me good fortune, but… He was alone, and he was scared, and he gave it to me so I would never forget him either. There is nothing scarier than the prospect of loneliness, and Ani was all alone in this strange new life of his.”

Padmé finished the tale as quickly as she could; she sensed Leia had stopped listening to it a while ago, and she wasn’t exactly sure what exactly had prompted her to drawback. From Leia’s quietude, she doubted she would learn it anytime soon, but she was willing to wait; for as long as it took—

“Anakin was a slave?”

Her voice was so soft and hoarse it was barely hearable; unfortunately, Padmé heard it all too well.

“I’m afraid he was,” she lamented, “He was born a slave. If our paths hadn’t crossed, he would have probably been a slave for the rest of his life.”

Padmé watched with a tight heart as Leia picked up the japor snippet with unsteady hands and placed it down on the mattress, so it was no longer touching her.

“I… I don’t understand,” Leia choked on her words, her eyes looking dead ahead so she wouldn’t have to look at Padmé. “If he was a  _ slave _ , if he knew exactly the pain and suffering that being enslaved would bring to a person, then why would he allow slavery to happen right under his grasp?”

Padmé’s jaw became rigid; that was a question she could not answer.

“Even if slavery came to be of Palpatine’s doing, then why didn’t he stop it?” Leia asked, her voice high pitched like she was on the edge of losing herself. “He was powerful enough to stop Palpatine. Why didn’t he? Why didn’t he settle with bringing harm to the galaxy in other ways? In manners that didn’t so directly speak to his personal history? Padmé, I — I don’t understand.”

Her cry was so heartfelt that Padmé could almost feel her pain. Yet, she couldn’t understand why Leia was reacting like that to a minor piece of Vader’s history when she already knew of the evil he was capable of.

“Maybe Vader was as a slave to his suit as Anakin had once been.”

Leia shook her head vigorously. “That’s not good enough.”

Padmé pressed her lips together, unsure of what Leia was asking of her. Unsure of what Leia  _ wanted  _ from her. “Maybe there are no explanations. Maybe, once Anakin was gone, nothing else ever mattered to Vader. Not even his own past.”

Leia dropped her gaze to her lap, where her fingers were anxiously picking on the skin of her opposite hand. “I can’t accept that.”

“You don’t have to,” Padmé said calmly, “You don’t have to accept any explanation to Vader’s wrongs.”

Leia closed her eyes tightly; it didn’t make  _ sense.  _ She couldn’t comprehend how a man who had experienced the pains of being slaved himself could only encourage slavery under his watch. He was supposed to have done  _ everything  _ in his power to stop other people from going under the same fate as him; it was supposed to be his only good deed as Darth Vader.

But it hadn’t been, and Leia hated him even more than she thought she was capable of.

“I…” she opened her lips to enunciate something, but her brain stopped her before any sentences made it out. And then, her heart started thundering faster inside of her; she was  _ tired  _ of holding it all together, she was tired of ignoring it as if the disregard would stop her from hurting — because it didn’t. So, for once in her life, she decided to follow her heart rather than her reason, and she confessed, “I was enslaved. On Tatooine.”

And just like that, Padmé became as white as a ghost. Her eyes enlarged and her lips fell half-open in failed attempts of making it easier to breathe. And just like that, the event that she had solely known as  _ what had happened on Tatooine  _ became clear as the Nubian summer sky and she felt sick to her stomach.

“Leia—”

Leia shook her head sideways, out of words. What was there left to say, anyway?

“Leia,” Padmé tried again, her words stuck on her throat. What was there to say, anyway? Nothing she said would undo what had happened. Nothing she said would ease the suffering that that single event might have brought to the young girl. “Leia, I… I’m so sorry.”

Leia shivered; she appreciated the sentiment, but it barely made a difference.

“I made it out, though,” she said, a little shaky. “They put a chain to my neck. They held me by the throat, rather than a bomb dreading to come off at my every misdeed. I guess that made it easier. To escape.”

Padmé felt the prickle of tears in her eyes, but she knew she couldn’t allow herself to cry. “That doesn’t make it easier, Leia. That doesn’t make it  _ right _ .”

“I know,” Leia replied faintly, her voice faltering with the weight of her emotions. “But it happens either way.”

_ But it shouldn’t;  _ god, it shouldn’t happen, much less to a child of Padmé’s. 

Leia pulled her hands to her face, in her desperate attempts of holding whatever was left of her composure.

“It’s okay to cry,” Padmé said softly, and she wanted nothing more than to pull Leia into a hug and hold her forever; until every one of her sorrows had washed away. She wouldn’t; she would never again do anything without Leia’s permission. “Crying doesn’t make you weak.”

“I don’t want to cry!” Leia snapped, and when she realized the sudden misplaced anger she had let out, she forced herself to breathe and calm herself. She lowered her hands again, and her cheeks were red. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Padmé said. In fact, she truly encouraged Leia to lash out if it meant she would feel any better. “Leia, you are so strong.”

Self-consciously, Leia pulled her legs up to her chest again, and she hugged them tightly amidst her vulnerability. If she could only disappear. 

“Leia,” Padmé started again. She was desperate to help, she  _ needed  _ to help Leia; Leia had blindly trusted her with one of the most painful events of her past, and it was her duty to be there for her daughter in every way that she could. Except — she had no idea what to do. “What did you—”

“I didn’t do anything that would justify the way they treated me!” Leia yelled, and in her short-lived rage, she turned her head to look at Padmé with her red eyes and trembling lips. “I didn’t  _ want  _ to be there, Padmé.”

Padmé was taken aback; by her reaction, yes, but incredibly more by the suffering written all over the young princess’ face.

“I wasn’t going to ask you that,” Padmé replied calmly, and she saw as Leia’s cheeks blushed. “But it does worry me that that’s the first place to where your mind went. Nothing that happened was your fault, Leia.”

Absorbed in her shame, Leia looked down again.

Padmé sighed.

“Let me rephrase,” Padmé tried, “I was going to ask, what did they make you do, Leia?”

“Oh,” she provided quietly and hugged herself even tighter. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sadly, Padmé bowed her head. Although Leia’s silence worried her, she acknowledged the importance of Leia having taken the first step and confessed the horror that had happened to her. They would take it one day at a time, as slowly as Leia wanted. Then, things would be alright again; Padmé was certain of it.

“It only lasted for a day, anyway,” Leia whispered, taking Padmé by surprise, as she was certain that she was done sharing her story for the time being. “I… I shouldn’t hurt so deeply regarding it. Not when there are so many people who spend their  _ entire lives  _ slaved, and they bear it with their heads high.”

“That’s because — they don’t have any other choice,” Padmé rationally explained, hating that she would have to illustrate it for Leia because — Leia was a clever girl, and Padmé didn’t doubt that Leia herself would be giving this same speech to anyone that came to her belittling their painful experience. 

Leia rested her chin between her knees; maybe, if she made herself small enough, she would disappear. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then listen to me only, Leia,” Padmé asked, her voice steady on her command. “One minute, one day, one month, one year. It doesn’t matter. Nobody should have their freedom stolen from them not even for one  _ second.  _ Because one second of slavery is more than anybody should have to bear. What you faced for one day is no less significant than what those slaved for a lifetime go through. Don’t be harsh on yourself for hurting. You’re allowed to.”

Leia listened, and it proved to be just as hard as the prospect of talking.

“I don’t want to hurt, Padmé.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Padmé said sadly, and the name of endearment escaped her lips before she could stop herself. She prayed that Leia wouldn’t mind. “But you’re going to either way. Allowing yourself to feel your pain is the only way you’ll heal.”

Leia anxiously nodded with her head; yet, she locked up her pain deep inside of her again. 

“I…” she stuttered, and with a long exhale she forced her chin high once more. “I killed him. The beast that enslaved me, with the very chain that he enslaved me with. The Force helped me, and I choked him to death.”

Unable to stop herself, Padmé’s thoughts betrayed her —  _ that was Vader’s preferred method of killing; that was how Anakin had tried to take her life from her.  _ She swallowed hard; she wasn’t trying to draw comparisons between father and daughter, but sometimes she couldn’t believe how  _ crude  _ the universe could be to make such a drastic  _ coincidence  _ happen—

“Yeah. I know that’s how Vader used the Force to kill his enemies.”

And Padmé’s cheeks turned as red as fire. “I—I wasn’t thinking that.”

For the first time in forever, Leia dared to gaze at her with her big sad eyes. “You were.”

Leia didn’t specify whether she had learned that deductively or intuitively.

Padmé forced herself to hold Leia’s eyes, no matter how uncomfortable. “I was  _ thinking  _ that you were very brave. To take action against the oppressor when you were in a position of disadvantage. The way I see it, Leia, you’d rather risk your own life instead of settling for a life of dominance.”

Leia shrugged, then shivered, then leaned her head against the wall, pulling the blanket closer around her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Padmé sighed; she didn’t think that was exactly true, as Leia had repeated that same sentence for the third time and yet continued to disclose little details of her captivity. Padmé suspected that there was nothing Leia wanted and needed more than to talk about it, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it.

So, she waited. Only when a long time had passed and she was certain that Leia wouldn’t say anything else that Padmé said, “When you’re ready to talk about it, Leia, I’ll be here. You’re not under the obligation to tell me anything, but never forget that, if you’re comfortable to come to me, I’ll  _ always  _ be here for you.”

The faintest smile appeared in the corner of Leia’s lips.

“I know,” she said, bowing her head gracefully. “And… The same goes for you, you know? You have also been through a lot, although you try to mask it, or simply hide it for Luke and I’s sake. I just want you to know that… You don’t have to.”

Likewise, Padmé smiled in gratitude — she hadn’t seen that one coming.

“You’re right, I went through my fair share of bad stuff when I was around your age,” Padmé lamented. “I wasn’t lying when I said I had found my strength again, though.”

Leia nodded; she wanted to find that strength, too. She  _ needed  _ it. She wanted to be strong like her mother.

And in a desperate attempt of reclaiming that strength somewhere, before she could stop herself, Leia leaned sideways and rested her face over Padmé’s shoulder.

Padmé became petrified at the suddenness of Leia’s behavior. She nearly stopped breathing, so afraid she was to move even in the slightest and send in the message that she didn’t want Leia there. Because — she did, more than anything. She had been craving for a genuine moment like this for  _ months,  _ and she wanted it to last forever.

Next to her, Leia was equally stiff. Her muscles were tense and her breathing was rigid; she sought comfort and she didn’t know how to ask for it, nor how to receive it. 

Understanding the fragility of their bond, and how one of them would have to step out of their comfort zone, Padmé knew the responsibility had to fall upon her. So, she gently shifted amidst their most uncomfortable stance and tenderly brought her arm around Leia’s waist and pulled her close, and her head was now resting on top of Leia’s. With a deep breath, she allowed all the tension in her body to evanesce, hoping that her body language would be enough to tell Leia that — Padmé would always be a safe harbor.

Closing her eyes tightly, Leia inhaled and exhaled several times in a steady rhythm, until feelings of safety came to her and she allowed herself to be. Her body relaxed as she properly leaned over Padmé’s body, allowing the mother, at last, to hold all of her weight — both physical and metaphorical.

For the time being, it was enough to give her the vulnerability to breathe in peace.

* * *

When the door to Padmé’s private room suddenly hissed open, mother and daughter were nearly startled to death. Leia in a hurry untangled herself from Padmé’s motherly hold, but when she realized it was just  _ Luke,  _ she fell back without a second thought.

Padmé gladly caught her, gently running her fingers alongside her arm.

Although Luke couldn’t fail to notice the scene unfolding before his eyes, he didn’t comment on it. He had no idea what had prompted Leia to seek comfort from Padmé — well, maybe he  _ did  _ — but he wasn’t about to question her and have her pull away.

Instead, he started, out of breath, “I have been looking  _ everywhere  _ for you…!”

Both girls only gazed at him, too unbothered with his histrionics. And claiming naturally to his inherited dramatics, Luke dropped himself to the floor, between the two beds, looking at Leia accusingly — the mere sight of her wrapped in a blanket made him sweat harder. 

“I went to your room, you weren’t there,” he said, holding one finger up, “So I went to your office, you weren’t there either,” a second finger, and a third. “Then I went to the Falcon, ran into Han — who is very prone to fighting our dead father’s ghost, by the way — and you weren’t there either!”

Padmé goodheartedly rolled her eyes. Leia chose to focus only on the parts that mattered to her, “What is Han going to do? Shoot an ethereal being that he can’t even see and hope he doesn’t  _ miss _ ?”

“He  _ might _ ,” Luke emphasized, his blue piercing eyes wild until he went back to the parts that mattered to  _ him _ , “Then, on a whim, I decided to come  _ here  _ — and imagine my surprise to find you here!”

Padmé offered him a look disdainful enough to shut him up. Leia only ignored him, allowing her mind to travel back to the places she was before they were interrupted. Even then, Leia didn’t dare to move.

Luke opened his mouth to say something more, but Padmé nearly fusillading him with her eyes at the prospect, and Leia clearly not caring in the slightest of what he had to say was all it took to silence him. Instead, he leaned back against the side rail of Ameera’s bed, his arms and legs crossed, and spent the next several minutes expectantly staring at the both of them.

“Luke,” Padmé called his name when she no longer could stand his dove eyes looking at her. She sighed, “Would you care to join us?”

Luke didn’t need to be asked twice as he nearly flew from the floor to her mattress, clearly disturbing the girls’ peace with all his movement and causing them to briefly break apart. But instead of being mad at him, Leia simply chuckled and shook her head at him as he tried to find a position comfortable enough for him to rest.

Feigning annoyance, Padmé opened her arm for him and two seconds later Luke found himself with his head over her lap, cramped in the little space he had been offered while fumbling with a japor snippet he had found thrown over the mattress, not really caring into asking what it was. Opposite to him, Leia watched him with interest as he so naturally allowed Padmé to offer him comfort when he was allegedly still mad at her, and, deciding she would like a chance at that easy relationship the two of them had built, Leia rested her head over Padmé’s shoulder once more.

Padmé simply stood there, a shy smile stamped across her face, while she tenderly ran her fingers through Luke’s hair and gently held Leia’s hand. She could stay there forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it too soon to call dibs on another favorite chapter? because.......... yeah
> 
> if you're enjoying this story, consider taking the time to leave a comment. hearing from you makes me the happiest!


	32. Thirty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, hello, sorry for disappearing again. i was so busy with work last week and then my dog fell ill and i had to take him to the vet on a hurry and i fell behind on my writing and long story short i was losing my goddamn mind. but worry not, my mind is back on its rightful place and i'm here to provide.
> 
> song for the chapter - [son by sleeping at last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SlDejzC3Tr4&ab_channel=TheInspirationalMind)

When Luke Skywalker invited Padmé to spend a day with him outside of the rebel base, away from military and political duties, Padmé was the happiest to agree to his son and mother day.

When Padmé sat next to him on his landspeeder and asked where they were going, Luke stared blankly ahead of him for several minutes before confessing that he had  _ never  _ been to anywhere in Coruscant — aside from his shortly lived Jedi Temple fiasco — a fact that had only occurred to him when he sat behind the wheel. Both amused and disbelieved, Padmé instructed him to scoop over as  _ she  _ would do the piloting — and just like that, their son and mother day became a  _ mother and son  _ day.

Which, of course, Luke didn’t mind in the slightest. In fact, he was eager to learn about all the places she would take him to.

It did come to him as a surprise, though — and maybe as a little bit of disappoint — that their first stop had been in a clothes shop located in the fancy high levels surrounding the Senate district. Opposing his high expectations of a fun, exciting day — their first activity seemed to be acutely  _ boring.  _

“I’m sorry, Luke,” Padmé tried to hold back her sneer upon his disappointed face. “I know you’re trying to find yourself as a Jedi in a world in which the Jedi are no more, but… I’ll have you know that even though the Jedi code defined a humble way of life, they still took  _ much  _ pride in their dressing code.”

She waited expectantly until he understood what she was trying to say. And when he did, his jaw dropped and he looked down on himself, perplexed.

“You’re saying that my clothes are ugly?!” he squealed, bewildered.

Her eyebrows shot up, her face deadpan. “Terribly so.” 

Luke crossed his arms over his chest in protest. “That’s not  _ true.  _ I just lead a very simple way of life.”

“Emphasis on  _ very _ ,” Padmé denounced. “Luke, trust me. Back in the Republic, the Jedi were  _ very  _ stylish. You can’t expect other people to trust you and accept you as this powerful being who is supposed to protect them and bring them safety when you walk around looking like…  _ that _ .”

All things considered, Luke doubted he had ever been so personally offended in his  _ life.  _ “There’s nothing wrong with my clothes! People trust me because I radiate goodness and fairness. They don’t need me to look like  _ royalty  _ to trust me.”

Padmé simply shook her head. “I’m surprised Leia has never tried to knock some sense into you.  _ That’s  _ a girl who knows how to dress.”

Luke huffed at the comparison. “I’ll have  _ you  _ know that Leia spent the majority of the last few years wearing  _ garb  _ and nobody looked down on her because of it.”

She looked at him with funny eyes. “There’s quite a difference between a girl dressing  _ down  _ and a boy dressing up, Luke,” she explained, and Luke returned her the same funny eyes. “Alderaan, much like Naboo, is a matriarchal world; however, that can’t be said for the majority of planets throughout the galaxy. When you are a strong woman in a position of power, in a world built for  _ men  _ — well, men tend to belittle you because of your gender, they will sexualize you and they will objectify you and they will call you the worst sexist names  _ just  _ because you’re a woman, and you’re in a position of power, when they’re not. So, the only way to have them look at  _ you,  _ rather than at your body, is by dressing down and trying to erase every aspect of your femininity so you’ll be like  _ them.  _ Now, Alderaan is a matriarchal world, and I can’t tell whether Leia had to learn it the easy way or the hard way — but she did, and she played the part. On the other hand, when you are a man in a position of power, in a world that already favors your mere existence  _ even  _ if you don’t have the necessary skills to be in said position of power — other people, other men and even other women will look up to you and will respect you. Dressing up, it comes with the job. The way you dress determines how approachable you are; people who don’t know you will turn you the other way if you look like you’ve been sleeping on the streets for the past days, just like people who don’t know you will welcome you if you look successful and powerful enough. Maybe this is grounded on pure elitism, just like Leia having to dress down is founded on sexism alone. Yet, this is the world we live in. Unfortunately, Luke, the rest of the galaxy is not Force sensitive so they would assess you from your innate goodness, and fairness. But they will judge you accordingly to how you present yourself. Clothing serves as a substitute for character to those that don’t know you well enough to judge you by anything else.”

Luke was now looking down in embarrassment. “I… I had never thought about that,” he stumbled on his words, “I mean, about you… About Leia… About women—”

Padmé smiled warmly at him. “It’s okay. There’s no shame in not knowing things,” she assured, “If anything, the fact that you never once questioned your sister’s choice of outfits probably means that you’ve never thought any less of her just because she’s a girl. That’s a good character trait.”

Luke chuckled gently. “Leia made  _ sure  _ we knew who the boss was the moment Han and I met her. The credit for that is all on her.”

Padmé joined him in his giggle. Yes, that sounded like Leia, but if Padmé allowed herself to be bold — it also sounded like  _ her.  _

“My point still stands,” she said, and then shifted the subject back to the matter in hands, “So, in the name of every powerful woman out there, will you  _ please  _ let me dress you up?”

Unable to refrain the coy smile shaping his lips, Luke agreed. Perhaps he was enjoying it more than he believed.

* * *

Padmé took the task of building Luke’s new wardrobe very seriously. She meticulously went through the entire shop looking at every rail of clothing, Luke following close behind her like a lost puppy. From time to time, she would ask him if he liked a piece of clothing or not, and he would even randomly make comments about his fashion preferences as they passed through every aisle — however, Padmé would still punctiliously select the comments she didn’t want to hear — which, all things considered, was the  _ majority  _ of them.

Padmé had once been a Queen of Naboo and a Senator of the Republic — if there was anything she  _ could  _ do was to dress well. She had once been very proud of her fashion sense, and she had pretty much had enough with letting Luke walk around in the rags he called his  _ clothes.  _

Now, she was sitting outside the dressing room as Luke tried on every outfit she had picked for him. The shop was nearly empty, and there wasn’t anybody else crowding the place, daring to overhear their conversation — the conversation between the hero of the galaxy and his mother, about matters that belonged to them only.

Separated by only a thick curtain, Padmé waited until the third or fourth outfit change before she allowed their chitchat to take a darker turn.

“Luke, I…” she started, clasping her hands together from the public side of the curtain. “I’d actually like to talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?” he yelled back from inside the tiny fitting room. “What is it, mother?”

“Well…” she tried to think of the best way to approach the matter, except — it didn’t exist. She didn’t even know if she was entitled to be having this conversation, but she needed to urgently sort her thoughts out. “Leia told me something.”

“Hm? What did she tell you?”

“She told me…” Padmé breathed out heavily, “About what happened on Tatooine.”

And the curtain assuring him of his privacy was yanked open, revealing him wearing mismatching trousers and shirt. His face was serious, and his expression was blank. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” she conceded once she realized that was all Luke had to say. “Sith’s sake, Luke, how could such a terrible thing like this have happened—”

“It happened,” he said simply. Not trying to undermine Leia’s experiences, but treading carefully through unknown territory. “Padmé. What exactly did Leia tell you?”

“Ern, nothing much,” she lamented, “Just that it happened, and that she killed her captor.”

Luke nodded, a heavy halo surrounding him. “Did you come here expecting I would share you the details? Because I won’t.”

“No, of course not,” she said in her sweet voice. “I just wish — I wish someone would have  _ told  _ me earlier.”

He offered her a look, and she sighed.

“Try on the maroon cardigan.”

Conceding to it, Luke shut himself behind the drapes once more. However, that didn’t stop him from engaging in their conversation.

“I don’t think Leia would have taken it well if she came to learn that any of us disclosed about her turmoils to you without her consent.”

Padmé grimaced at his last word; yes, of course, that wasn’t what she had meant at all.

“I just mean,” she tried again, “I would have done things a lot differently if — I had known. I would have been — kinder, more patient. I, I don’t know. I would have tried to be better.”

“You were good enough,” Luke guaranteed, stepping out of the dressing room with the maroon cardigan looking quite smug,  _ even  _ if his clothes were the last thing concerning him. “You were kind, and you were patient. You’ve done your best — Leia just had her own troubles clashing alongside your arrival.”

Padmé nodded. “That looks good on you.”

“Hm,” Luke agreed, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“Set it apart, we’re taking it,” Padmé decided, and it  _ clearly  _ wasn’t up for debate. “Try on the black shirt, now.”

Luke followed back inside without protest, leaving Padmé to sulk behind.

“I would have tried to understand her side more,” Padmé commented, following the same thinking trail of before. “I don’t know, Luke. I know there’s virtually  _ nothing  _ that I could have done, but still. I would have… done differently, that much I’m certain of.”

“Have you ever stopped to think that maybe that was exactly  _ why  _ Leia didn’t tell you anything before?” Luke prompted, his voice slightly oscillating as he got out from his clothes into other ones. “She doesn’t want to be treated differently. She’s already got enough of that from strangers, because of her status, because of Alderaan. She doesn’t need that from  _ us  _ too, her close family.”

Padmé was forced to concede with a bow; she was so distracted she didn’t notice Luke stepping out again.

He continued, “With everything that happened, on top of things — Leia just wants to be treated normally, you know? Like — like a  _ human _ . We owe her that much.”

For several seconds, Padmé was looking at him, but she wasn’t seeing him. “I guess,” and she snapped back to herself, “Oh. Don’t you look handsome.”

Luke blushed significantly.

“Set it aside,” she instructed. “Oh, maybe try the white tunic alongside the black cape. I think you’ll look stylish on it.”

He offered her a look. “Haven’t we set aside  _ enough  _ clothes already?” he pointed to behind himself, “Look at the pile!”

Padmé pouted. “Considering that all your old clothes are going straight to the  _ incinerator, _ ” she imposed, “No, I don’t think we have.”

Luke rolled his eyes, but, really, did he have any other choice?

He followed back inside without a word. Padmé leaned her back against the wall.

“I just can’t stop thinking about it,” she lamented, “And that’s not fair to Leia, because she’s  _ so much more  _ than that. Yet, every time I see Leia, I have to choke inside this sudden urge to cry, because — she didn’t deserve that, Luke.  _ Nobody  _ deserves to be enslaved, and she… She much less than other people.”

“I understand the sentiment very well,” Luke said, his voice smaller and full of burden. This time, when he came out, he didn’t resemble as vibrant as before.

Still, despite everything, Padmé smiled at him warmly.

“You look  _ very  _ good in that,” she said, beaming proudly, “A true Jedi.”

Luke chuckled soundlessly and lifelessly as he sat in the opposite cushion bench from her.

“What bothered me the most about — all that,” Luke said uncomfortably, looking down on his feet; he didn’t think he was necessarily breaking his sister’s trust when he was simply retelling his sentiments about a situation where  _ he  _ had to be the strong one, and just him. “Was how…  _ silent  _ she was.”

Luke bit down on his lips anxiously; likewise, silence prevailed for a while.

“You’ve known Leia for a little time, now,” Luke inferred, “When have you ever seen Leia to be quiet, regarding  _ anything _ ?”

Padmé swallowed hard, the answer coming to her too quickly. For as long as she had known the princess, Leia had always been adamant to speak her mind, and that was a trait that Padmé deeply admired from her.

“They wanted to steal her voice,” he concluded sadly, “And they succeeded. Even if just for a brief time — they succeeded.”

Luke sadly reminisced the moment he arrived at Jabba’s palace, and how they had escaped, and how long the journey back to the Millennium Falcon in that tiny, cramped landspeeder had been. A journey in which Leia stared out at the vastness of sand dunes under the burning twin suns of Tatooine, never daring to look at either of them, not even at Han, who she hadn’t seen for  _ months _ , and they had had to do their best to respect her space. Luke recalled with a heavy heart the warm embrace that she had allowed him to give her just before they parted ways, while offering her words of kindness throughout their connection — back when he didn’t even know she could hear him, and her mind’s silence only corroborated it.

He hugged her tight, and she didn’t hug back. She just stood there, not daring to say a single word.

Luke only came to hear her voice again a few days later, after he had returned from Dagobah with the knowledge that she was his  _ sister  _ — and everything became so much harder — when she had locked the memories so deep inside of her it seemed it hadn’t happened at all.

“That’s what gets me the most,” he repeated, running the palm of his hands along his thighs as he desperately sought to replace bad memories with good ones.

He couldn’t tell that, across from him, Padmé was likewise trying to erase all the mental images she had of that terrible event. 

“I’m from Tatooine,” Luke said when eye contact was nearly impossible to be made. “I know of the terrible things that people are capable of there, I have seen it with my own eyes growing up,” he paused briefly, searching for his words, “It’s different when they happen to someone you love, though, and you are forced to live with the impotence of watching them go through something  _ horrible  _ why there’s virtually nothing you can to to save them from their misery.”

Padmé nodded discreetly, sharing the sentiment all too well.

“When I came to find her — like  _ that _ ,” he started again, his elbows on his knees, his eyes looking everywhere and nowhere at all. “Well, I came to negotiate for her freedom, hers and Han and Chewie’s freedom, and I saw her there,” he exhaled tiredly, “I had to — block her out of my sight, out of my  _ mind _ , because if I allowed myself to think about her, to acknowledge those big eyes full of sorrow  _ begging  _ me for emancipation, I would have broken down right there, and I wouldn’t be able to help her. I don’t know if what I did was right, mother, I don’t know if having ignored her at that moment made things worse for her, when she was already suffering under their hands enough to have me turn my back on her — even though I  _ wasn’t _ , I was just trying the best I could.”

Padmé’s eyes became filled to the brim as she realized that whatever had happened on Tatooine hurt Luke just as it hurt Leia. Their sufferings weren’t on the same scale, but the pain was still there.

“You did what you could,” she said with a small, barely heardable voice. “She doesn’t fault you for that.”

She had no grounds to be speaking over the princess, of course; however, she  _ knew  _ as much. If there was something that she could speak with conviction, it was that the twins’ bond wasn’t easily breakable. She doubted that it was breakable at all.

Luke merely shrugged; what was done was done.

“In the end, she saved herself,” he chuckled lightly;  _ that  _ was his sister — the girl that always saved herself, because everybody else was too much a fool to do any rescuing right. “She always does.”

Padmé smiled delicately at that.

“Are you okay?”

Luke appreciated her concern, but believed it to be misplaced with the wrong child. So, he simply nodded, and forced himself back up.

“Let me guess,” he prompted, his voice dry. “Set it aside.”

Padmé snorted significantly. “Of course.”

His hand was clenching to the drapes, ready to shut it again, when he dared to look over his shoulder at his mother. “Do we have to keep going? I don’t feel like trying on new clothes anymore.”

His request was so heartfelt that Padmé started to feel bad.

“Yes, no, of course we can stop,” she said, and he smiled at her in gratitude. “Wait—Can you just try on the dark blue tonic? The last one, I promise.”

Conceding, he bowed with his head. This time, there wasn’t any chit chat as he changed into said piece of clothing.

But when he stepped back out — Padmé was speechless. Her lips slightly fell apart and her eyes became wide as she stared at him,  _ her son,  _ in that dark blue tunic that fell to his knees with refined shoulder blades and enriched burgundy details; she felt her breath once more being stolen from her.

Luke eyed her comically for several moments, waiting for a comment, for anything, and it never came. Self-consciously, he looked down on himself.

“You don’t like it?” he asked in an edgy voice. “I thought it looked nice…”

Yet, it took her long to provide a verbal response.

“You — You look amazing, Luke,” she had to force the words out. “It’s just — You’re looking so much like your father.”

Luke’s cheeks burned like fire, and he forced himself to look at the mirror and study his image there. He knew that physically resembled Anakin, with his piercing blue eyes and his golden hair and his face shape, but Padmé had never been so overwhelmed by it — not until now.

“I’m sorry, I—” she forced herself to take a deep breath, “It just came to me. Your father had a tunic really similar to that one, he would wear it  _ all  _ the time. I suppose my subconscious chose it for you when I had no recollection of it, and something inside me just knew you had to try it before we went. Now, looking at you… You look just like your father, Luke.”

Luke met the reflection of her eyes in the mirror, and hesitantly asked. “In… In a good way?”

Padmé tilted her head slightly, “Of course, Luke. You only ever bring out the good from him.”

Luke ran his tongue against his lips; there was a reassurement he didn’t know he needed to hear. “I mean… It doesn’t make you sad?”

“You’ll never make me sad, Luke,” she said. “I guess — I became a little too overwhelmed, is all. Because even amidst all the bad… There were still many good moments that I had with Anakin. And seeing you here, looking  _ so much  _ like your father, following your father’s path in the light — it makes me so happy.”

At last, Luke allowed himself to smile again.

* * *

To say Luke had gotten a life makeover was an understatement; the four bags filled with brand clothes didn’t do Padmé’s efforts justice. Although her savings from Raada weren’t that rich, her payment as a hard working intelligence officer of the rebellion was barely a  _ joke,  _ and she had yet to find the courage to trace back the Amidala name and all the wealth that came with it, she had insisted on paying for his new wardrobe on her own, which made Luke become so red that he had yet to fully regain his normal color. He was adorable, and Padmé was happy to do so; even if she didn’t  _ have  _ to, she overly enjoyed spoiling him to  _ death. _

Clumsily, Luke Skywalker struggled to carry all four bags in two hands only, and being the perfect gentleman that he was, he declined every offer of Padmé’s to help him out, to the point she merely gave up asking. Now, mother and son were walking aimless around the busy streets of Coruscant, talking about everything and nothing at all. 

Until Padmé heard her own stomach growling, and she broke whatever discussion they were engaged in to ask, “What do you say about a late lunch? I’m starving.”

His eyes lit up with the prospect, and then his face expression changed into something new entirely — and considering just  _ how many times  _ she had seen that same look on Anakin’s face, Padmé knew she was about to regret having suggested it  _ at all _ .

“Actually — Instead of a proper lunch,” he started to speak his mind carefully, but the excitement behind his voice betrayed him. “I was thinking.. We could go a little unorthodoxly…”

Padmé stopped walking and stood face to face with him, offering her suspicious eyes. “And you’re suggesting…?”

“Well…” his attempts in hiding the smirk from his lips were only making his face three times more ludicrous. “Let’s have ice cream for lunch!”

And his proposal was so  _ absurd  _ that Padmé couldn’t even convey a proper reaction for it. She just stood there, waiting for the words in her ears to make some  _ sense _ , because she couldn’t believe what she was hearing—

“What are you, five?!”

And she said it so alike what Leia would say in a situation like that that, instead of becoming embarrassed by the reprimand, Luke only bursted deeper into laughter and joy.

“I mean it!” he shouted in excitement, “Let’s have ice cream for lunch.”

His enthusiasm added to his arms juggling with the bags hung there only made the entire scene more preposterous.

“Luke,” Padmé spoke very seriously, actually picturing a five-year-old child in front of her as she talked. “There’s a — a proper order for this. First, you have a meal,  _ then  _ you can move on to the dessert—”

“Nope,” he shook his head, barely bothering himself to hear her out. “I want to stuff myself with ice cream!”

“Luke,” she held her tone and her calm, and she  _ never  _ expected she would be having such a conversation with her grown up son — ! “If you stuff yourself with ice cream without having lunch first, you’re going to have a headache. You’re going to have a stomachache!”

“Mother, I don’t think you understand the gravity of my situation,” Luke mimicked her tone and expression, so he would be taken seriously.

Crossing her arms, Padmé made a face. “I  _ definitely  _ don’t.”

“Well,” Luke went as far as raising his arms towards his chest to copy her stance, only then being reminded of the logistically impossibilities of doing so. “You see, mother, I’ve never tried ice cream before!”

Yet, Padmé’s expression didn’t as much as flinch. “Lying to me won’t—”

“I’m not lying,” he interrupted, maybe a little offended that his mother wouldn’t trust his word. “I’ve never had ice cream before.”

With her eyes startled, Padmé became just as reactionless as before. “You — what?!”

His expression suddenly became very sad. “I’ve never had ice cream before,” he said for the zillionth time, “I’m from  _ Tatooine.  _ We’ve got two suns and a very hot desert. It is physically impossible to have ice scream when you live in a desert. It just — melts.”

Although Padmé took his story to heart, part of her just wanted to laugh at how  _ painful  _ a childhood without ice cream was to him. “You’ve been out of Tatooine for what, four years now?”

“Yes, living under precarious conditions alongside the rebellion, mother!” Luke exaggeratedly cried. “From all the places we could have gone to, we ended up in Hoth.  _ Hoth _ ! If you think you know what cold feels like, you’re wrong, because you don’t know cold until you’re in Hoth. And you can’t have ice cream in Hoth either! You’re already freezing outside, you don’t want to freeze  _ inside  _ too.”

Padmé discreetly placed her hand over her lips, quietening her sneer. “So you want to try ice cream now.”

“Yes! Every flavor there is!” he shouted excitedly. “I might have never had ice cream before, but I’ve heard  _ all  _ about it, from Leia and from Han. You see, Leia thinks ice cream is lovely,  _ lovely,  _ but she wouldn’t make a big deal about it because to her there are better desserts out there. To which Han responded, ‘ _ who hurt you?’ _ , because to him there is  _ nothing  _ better in this world than some ice cream on a hot summer day.  _ To which  _ Leia responded, ‘ _ you need to grow up!’ _ , because his taste is just as infantile as his usual behavior. To which Han responded—”

“Luke,” Padmé gently called him back to reality. As much as she enjoyed seeing Luke drift away in his ramblings, she was also  _ starving. _

“Hm? Oh, sorry,” Luke said, “My point being — I want to make an opinion for myself on ice cream.”

The whole thing was so absurd that, before she could stop herself, Padmé found herself saying—

“Fine. Whatever. We can have ice cream for lunch.”

“Yes!” Luke yelled like a child who had just gotten candy —  _ which  _ was pretty much what was happening here. Then, unexpectedly, he frowned, “You don’t happen to know a  _ quality  _ ice cream shop around here, do you?”

Unbelieving, Padmé rolled her eyes.

Lucky for him — she knew just the place.

* * *

Out of protest, Padmé was quite determined not to have any ice cream and just grab something else to eat after Luke had his moment of epiphany, but watching him delight himself while her stomach systematically growned inside of her was all it took for her to cave in.

Just in time for his second round, of course.

Now, they sat contentedly at a quiet table in the patio of the ice cream shop, settled in the quietude of the place. Five empty cups stood between them — and just one belonged to Padmé. Luke had made the most out of the situation, trying different flavours from all over the galaxy to understand the enriching cultural aspect of  _ ice cream  _ to different civilizations — Pickled Mango from Ryloth, Ghost Pepper from Corellia, Bourbon and Corn Flake from Naboo, and Sour Cream from Alderaan.

When Padmé pointed out that he was meticulously only trying ice cream flavors to appease those close to him — Naboo for her, Corellia for Han, Alderaan for Leia, and Ryloth for Ameera — he thought it to be an absurd thought.

And then, excitedly, he commented on how he couldn’t  _ wait  _ to meet them again and tell them of how he had tried a cultural dish from their home planets — Padmé simply rolled her eyes as he kept babbling about this apparent ice cream galactical phenomenon. He had thought Corellia’s choice of adding a spicy flavor to something sweet a little odd at first, but it soon grew on him; Naboo’s elegant flavor made him feel like royalty himself; Ryloth’s brought a funny texture to his mouth, which he soon came to appreciate; and Alderaan’s — well, if he was being honest, Alderaanian typical ice cream was the most boring and dullest thing he had ever tried, and he had grown up on  _ Tatooine _ ; now, he understood why Leia wasn’t that inclined towards ice cream, but he’d rather  _ die  _ than to tell to her face that her homeworld made boring ice cream.

Once he had had his childhood dream fulfilled, as well as having the chance to spend one of his most genuine days with his  _ mother _ , he thought it safe to steer their conversation towards — a darker path.

“Mother, I would like to talk to you about Anakin.”

And his request came so unexpectedly that Padmé’s easy expression abruptly dropped, and she swallowed hard. Of course, she had been expecting it. Not only had this topic been piling up in all of their heads ever since she came into the picture, but Anakin had also paid the twins an unasked for — and unwelcomed — visit a few days before, and Luke had yet to say anything about it. She assumed he was either gathering his thoughts on the matter or had his needs of knowing and understanding his father fulfilled after Anakin’s apparition — or, maybe,  _ both.  _ However, she hadn’t realized how unprepared she was for this conversation until now, as she became scared and anxious of the questions he would pose and how should she answer them without breaking his heart.

And to think that she would also have to go through a similar enquiry when Leia was ready to face the questions of her origins—

_ No _ , she couldn’t think like that. She had a duty to the twins, and she knew the importance of abiding for both the good and the bad that came with being their  _ mother _ . So, with all the strength in her chest, she clasped her hands together and asked, “Would you like to make questions or would you rather I took the lead?”

Most days, she couldn’t wait for the good to  _ finally  _ come, though.

Likewise, Luke shifted uncomfortably on his sit, and for one he couldn’t believe he was about to have  _ that  _ conversation so openly and so publicly. Yet, he was thankful for it, because he thought he would suffocate if they were to have such a heavy conversation while trapped in the closed quarters of the rebellion base.

“I… Both?” he prompted reluctantly; this was brand territory for him as well. “I have no idea how to do this.”

Padmé chuckled nervously. “Me either.”

“Well, I suppose we should start from the beginning,” he cleared his throat, his eyes fixated on the empty cups over the table rather than on her. “As I suppose you’re aware, Leia and I were —  _ visited  _ by Anakin Skywalker.”

Unsure of how to respond, Padmé simply nodded.

“Of course, Anakin is dead, so he came to us in the most unorthodox way,” Luke rambled on,  _ even  _ if he knew that Padmé already knew that; perhaps, he was stalling. “Because he is very strong in the Force therefore his spirit broke the barriers of the physical world and joined a greater realm, a realm of light, where only goodness prevails. That’s where Leia and I and  _ you  _ will go once our time comes, but because some of us are really connected with the Force, we can still hold tight to our consciousness, even after our death. Does that make sense?”

“No, I don’t think it makes much sense,” she commented, “But I understand.”

“Okay. Good,” he said, tapping his fingers against the table in a rhythm only he could hear. “Well, and sometimes the dead can break through the barriers of the living world, and when you’re somehow strong with the Force, like Leia and I, you can…  _ connect,  _ communicate with those gone before us who are also bound to the Force. I guess — no one is ever really gone.”

“Luke,” Padmé gently said his name, hoping it would be enough to bring him back from his ramblings. “I already know all of that.”

“R—Right, okay,” he pressed his lips tightly together for a moment, gathering up the courage to at last look at her again. “Well. I saw Anakin. For the first time ever since he abdicated the darkness. For the first time, we met and there was only light.”

That was good, right? Padmé judged it to be a good thing.

Still, she asked, “How did it go?”

“Horribly,” he didn’t falter to answer, and her eyes went wide upon the realization that the twins had unknowingly chosen the same word to describe that event. “However… All things considered, I do think it was better for me… than it was for  _ him _ .”

Padmé tilted her head, intrigued. Of course she wouldn’t expect the encounter with the children that he had wronged to go smoothly, but at the same time, Anakin had returned to the light after decades lost amidst the darkness; she wouldn’t think he was so easily quarreled.

“Not because of Leia and I,” Luke clarified, sensing her inner debates. “I would never say that his standing there to us was  _ easy _ , and Leia was so brutal and fierce with him — and she had every right to be,” Luke rambled on before he could stop himself. “However — his experience was infinitely more painful than Leia and I’s. All because of…  _ you _ .”

Padmé essentially stopped breathing in front of her son. She dreaded to know what Luke had meant.

Sensing how anxious his mother had become, Luke reached forward and found her hands on his. “Anakin… Anakin didn’t know that you were alive, Mother.”

She simply stared at him, her eyes wide open, unsure how to proceed. Unsure if she wanted to know Anakin’s reaction to the news about her, but certified that she was going to learn about it either way.

“Mother, I…” Luke tried, and words never failed him as much as now. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Padmé chuckled gently, holding back his hand. “ _ You  _ can’t hurt me, Luke.”

Luke swallowed roughly, “No, but… I can deliver the story that  _ will  _ hurt you.”

She let out a long breath. “There are few things regarding Anakin that can still affect me.”

She was lying, they both knew as much. Yet, they chose to believe it.

“I guess I should start with the good stuff, then?” Luke prompted with a convincing nod, “Although — well,  _ good  _ differs significantly from points of view, but I want to believe that this will be good for you. I want it to be, because after everything, you  _ deserve  _ to have something good from him again.”

“Luke,” Padmé called for him before he started drifting further away. “Just tell me. Whatever it is, I can take it.”

He looked deeply into her eyes and found her strength there.

“Anakin — wanted me to tell you of how much he loves you.”

And just like that, it was like Anakin was trying to steal her of her breath again. That had been all she ever wanted, his love, but how could she accept it twenty years too late, after everything that had been said and done?

And a deeper part of her screamed — how could she  _ not _ ? When he had come back for their children, for  _ her _ ?

She sniffed, and one tear ran down her cheek, the single embodiment of all her feelings.

“Oh, Padmé…” Luke said her name, and the amount of burden and emotion in his voice was all it took her to desperately close her eyes to contain herself.

“I’m alright,” she said, her voice hoarse and contradicting her words. “It just — it caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting that.”

Luke nodded, understanding.

“Or, maybe — I  _ was.  _ I was expecting it, because that’s the most Anakin thing to say, but hearing it after  _ everything  _ only makes it… harder to bear. Anakin’s love, you know? Because nobody loved like Anakin, and Anakin loved too much. And when you have so much love to offer, yet you are forbidden to love… Well, the galaxy suffers the consequences from it.”

Luke sadly conceded; maybe that would be the defining difference between him and his father — that he was allowed the freedom of his heart to love as passionately as he could, while Anakin had been doomed to suppress the depth of his feelings.

Maybe, because of that, he would never  _ fall.  _

“From the minutes we’ve talked, I could tell how much love he had for you,” Luke said, doing his best to sustain their eye contact. “It’s like — Anakin died the moment Padmé did. And Anakin was almost brought back to life when I told him that Padmé lives.”

Padmé felt her eyes sting; maybe the galaxy would have been  _ safe  _ if only she had braced herself enough and not hidden away. Maybe if she only hadn’t been so  _ heartbroken  _ from all the pain that he willingly brought her—

Or, maybe, Palpatine had already corrupted him all too much for there to have been any hope left.

“When Anakin learned that you were alive, I could feel the burden on him,” he carried on, despite knowing how hard it was for Padmé to hear him. She had come to learn that he still loved her, she needed to learn as well that his misdeeds plagued him just as much. “He struggles to forgive Vader for the crimes he committed, and knowing that you’re aware of all the misery he brought to the galaxy, to those you  _ love,  _ weighs on him.”

She nodded with her head heavy; if she were in Anakin's place, she would never forgive herself either. She did not pity Anakin’s resolution; she would have much less respect for the man that had once been her husband had he simply forgiven and forgotten all the bad that Vader did.

Especially — the bad he had inflicted upon his children.

“I wish,” she started, sorting through her thoughts meticulously. “I wish I could speak to him.”

Luke smiled sadly. “We could try, if you’d like. Leia or I would have to mediate your conversation, because Anakin might be able to see and hear you, but the same can’t be said about you.”

Padmé didn’t even move, her vision lost within the scenery. 

“Of course, I’m not sure how you’d feel about either your children meddling with the affairs you have with your dead husband,” Luke rambled, and his words sounded weird on his own ears. “But, ern, you let me know.”

Still, it took her a while to leave her trance. “Hm? Oh, I — Let me think about it, okay?”

Because, as much as she wanted to speak with Anakin, to try and understand what had been his reasons for everything that he had done, she was also terrified of such an encounter. Much like Leia herself, she presumed.

“Of course, mother,” Luke assented, and he would not push her on the matter. “Don’t hesitate to come to me, or Leia, if you ever decide to.”

Then, he grimaced.

“Well, might be better to leave Leia out of it.”

Padmé snorted; that much she agreed with him on.

“You’ve said you wanted to start with the good stuff,” Padmé said, suddenly caught up on what he had said previously. “That means there’s bad stuff, too.”

Luke chuckled nervously, pulling his hands back to himself. 

“When Leia and I were meditating… I had a few visions, regarding… You and Anakin, mostly.”

Padmé perked up her brows, a little curiously. When Leia had come to her after their meditation, she had confessed about the visions she had seen, likewise regarding her and Anakin, and she wondered if the twins knew just how in sync they were,  _ even  _ when they had their ethereal connection momentarily severed — or, at least, no one had told her if they had somehow reestablished it again. 

Although — as she recalled, Leia’s visions had overall helped her to a greater understanding of the goodness once inside of Anakin. Apparently, the same couldn’t be said about Luke.

And Padmé herself had too many bad memories of the things that had happened between the two of them.

“The Force never offers you more than you can take, but the things I saw… It came close, mother,” Luke confessed, his eyes attracted to his fumbling hands. “The Force showed me Anakin’s path to the Dark Side.”

Padmé remained quiet and still on her seat, her eyes fixated on the figure of her son, suddenly looking so vulnerable amidst the immensity of the world.

“Mother, if it wouldn’t burden you too much,” he gently prompted, his heart beating a little faster at the prospect of the request he had yet to ask. “I am finally ready to hear about the things that took place twenty years ago. If it isn’t too much to ask of you, I would like you to tell me about Anakin’s descent to the darkness.”

She breathed in a long breath as the memories of such a long time before started to overflow her. 

“All right,” she hesitantly agreed, and waited until he found it in himself to look at her again. “Luke, I cannot speak for Anakin, or what precisely his motivations had been. I can only speak for myself, and my perspective of the things that led Anakin to his downfall.”

Luke nodded. “I understand. But mother — nobody knew Anakin better than you. You were the love of his life.”

“Yes, I was,” she conceded, “However… Anakin  _ changed _ , too much, in the last months we had together. I was simply too blind by our love, by our  _ children,  _ to see what he had become.”

“Mother, you can’t fault yourself for that,” Luke said, “You weren’t responsible for the things that he chose to do.”

“I wasn’t responsible, but I was his reason,” Padmé admitted, sighing briefly. “I will start from the beginning, though. From the first time I saw Anakin’s power threaten him. And, Luke, once again he did it out of love.”

His eyes became glossier, and he couldn’t talk. Only listen.

“It happened — before we had even confessed our love for one another,” she started, “I was working on the Senate when there was an attempt on my life, and your father was the Jedi assigned to protect me. We sought refuge in Naboo, where my family resided, where we thought  _ I  _ would be safe — and we were. I was home, and I was safe, but Anakin… Anakin started to have bad dreams, dreams about his mother dying. The mother that he hadn’t seen ever since the Jedi found him and saved him from a life of slavery in Tatooine; the mother that once meant  _ everything  _ to him. He knew it wasn’t his mission, but he couldn’t leave his mother to die, so he forsook his mission of protecting me, and we went to Tatooine to find his mother.”

Luke tried to calm his breath as so much was delivered to him in such a short time. Anakin had a mother that loved him? Anakin was taken from his mother? Anakin was a  _ slave _ ?

“We were too late,” Padmé continued, although aware of the son struggling to cope in front of her. “Anakin held his mother in his arms as she took her last breath.”

Luke shivered, uncomfortable. He remembered as much, he had seen it in his vision, and he had felt Anakin’s pain as the person that meant the world to Anakin died, and suddenly his world was shattered. 

“Anakin — couldn’t accept what had happened to his mother. Shmi Skywalker had been kidnapped and tortured by Tusken Raiders, and the injustice of the fate thrusted upon his mother weighed upon Anakin, and as his rage and hatred consumed him, he knew he had to seek revenge. So he… He destroyed the entire village, killed every man, every woman, and every child. And Luke… He didn’t regret it. He would do it all over again. For love, he would.”

Luke closed his eyes; he had seen that moment too, and he had felt Anakin’s hatred to the bone. He remembered the screams of innocent people being slaughtered, he remembered the smell of burned flesh, he remembered the light of life being put out as Anakin murdered person after person. All because someone he loved had been taken from him—

And when the excruciating wonder of what life without Leia, or Padmé, or Han would feel like, he forced himself to open his eyes. 

“That was Anakin’s first touch with the darkness within him,” Padmé said in a whisper, almost like she still struggled to accept it, even twenty so years after. “And the things that he told me afterwards… Trying to justify his action… It was terrifying. Looking back, I can’t believe how I could have been so stupid to miss all the signs.”

“He wanted absolute power, so he would never lose anybody dear to him ever again,” Luke recalled from his vision, taking a few seconds to himself before leaving his trance. “I don’t think you were stupid to miss the signs, mother. No, I think you were acutely aware of them. You just couldn’t know what the signs would lead him to.”

Padmé smiled gratefully; her sweet Luke, never once allowing anything to bring her down, not even herself.

Her smile, however, dissipated all too soon.

“You don’t understand, Luke. Things started to get really…  _ rough,  _ once we learned we were pregnant,” Padmé said, her voice small. “Anakin loved me, and Anakin loved  _ you  _ very much. But his nightmares wouldn’t leave him alone, and the worse they got with visions of losing  _ us,  _ the more convicted he became to seek for a greater power that would save us all. And the things he did in his quest for greatness… Unfathomable. Unforgivable.”

They both sighed, and they both had somehow stopped looking at each other’s face.

“Would Anakin still descent into Darkness hadn’t Palpatine been there exploiting his weakness, I don’t know,” Padmé pondered sadly, “Palpatine was incredibly smart while also being aided by the Force; he knew exactly what he needed to do in order to conquer the galaxy for himself, and Anakin was the key to it all. But nobody learned that Palpatine was a Sith Lord until it was too late, and Anakin was already committing crimes under his name,  _ before  _ the world knew him as Darth Vader.”

Luke swallowed hard; he didn’t think he wanted to know about the things Anakin did, yet, he found himself asking—

“What did he do, mother?”

And Padmé heard the question behind his question all too well —  _ what did he do to her? _

“There was an order cast out to kill all the Jedi,” Padmé reminisced sorrowfully. “The Republic’s Clone army turned on them, and most of them fell before they knew what had hit them. And since the Jedi could be no more… Anakin went to the Jedi temple, where all the padawans were and… He killed them all.”

Luke felt the tears consuming his eyes, although he didn’t shed any of them. How could Anakin have done that — ! He understood remotely killing children of a village unknown to him, but killing children that he most likely lived with and saw frequently? Luke couldn’t fathom that,  _ especially  _ when he was with child himself, a child that was most likely faded to being born Force sensitive — !

“When Obi-wan told me of what he had done, I couldn’t believe it either,” Padmé said, relating to every thought going through Luke’s mind even though she wasn’t Force sensitive. “Anakin was the embodiment of love, and Anakin was the father of my children. I refused to believe he would do harm to innocent younglings,” she let out a breath, “But he did. He hurt them and he mercilessly killed them all. And when I confronted him, the words that came out of his mouth weren’t his; they were the Emperor’s, and that’s when I knew I had lost Anakin forever.”

Luke laid his face on his hands, his throat constricted and making it hard to breathe. 

“What happened after that?”

Padmé looked down on her lap. “We parted ways, and I never saw him again.”

Luke nodded, thinking. And then —  _ no _ , that wasn’t true. He had seen it in his visions, he had seen the final encounter between Padmé and Anakin, and it had been  _ merciless.  _ Then why was Padmé lying to him — ?

And before he could stop to think properly, Luke accused, “Why are you protecting him?”

“Hm,” she heard his words, but it took them a while to make sense, and she snapped her neck towards him, “What?!”

“Why are you protecting  _ him _ ,” Luke asked again, the vein on his forehead pulsating hard as he couldn’t  _ believe  _ that after everything that had been said and done, she would still hold allegiance to him over her son. “I know what happened, I saw it in my visions. I know what he did to you. Why are you protecting him, mother?”

Padmé stared at him intensely, unbelieving that after everything they had been through in the past months, he would still think like that.

“I wasn’t protecting him, Luke,” she said, strongly and harshly. “I was protecting  _ you _ . Only you. No child deserves to have the image of their father trying to kill their mother in their minds.”

And Luke blushed so significantly that his entire face became red. “Oh. I… I’m sorry.”

And whatever tension that had accumulated briefly between them disappeared into thin air.

“It’s okay,” she assured, “I know you only mean well, Luke. Let’s not turn on each for things that  _ Anakin  _ did.”

Biting on the inside of his cheeks, Luke agreed. “I just  — I guess I don’t understand, mother. How could he do that? I thought — I thought he loved you…!”

“He did,” Padmé slowly nodded with her head, “Until love was not enough. Because love upon the face of betrayal — it ends too fast, and Anakin  _ knew  _ that. So, in the choice between a life without me in it, and life without me at all, he chose the latter. Vader would rather not have me at all than to have me turn on him.”

He listened to her attentively, even when her words stabbed him in the heart. “But what about… us? Leia and I. How could he do you  _ harm  _ when you were carrying his own children? Children that he supposedly loved…!”

“Like I said, I can’t speak for Anakin,” Padmé said, “I can’t tell if he wanted all of us dead, or if it was a moment of weakness and he deeply regretted his actions afterwards. If you want those answers, you will have to ask Anakin. However, my  _ perception  _ from our last moments together is that Anakin became a slave of his power, be it from his own volition or Palpatine’s. And once only his love for power prevailed, my love for him became nothing.”

Luke lowered his gaze, trying so hard to understand. “I just… I feel like I am very like him, my father. Anakin had so much love inside of him, and so do I. The love and compassion I have for others… It defines me. I can’t ever imagine forsaking this love for anything else.”

Padmé smiled at him cautiously. “You are very alike, yes. However, and most importantly, Luke, you are not him.”

Although Luke conceded, it was unclear whether he had been taking her words to heart. “When Anakin came to us, he said that we had called for him. Both Leia and I had, albeit unknown to us. I can’t tell what Leia’s reasons were, but… neither can I tell  _ mine _ .”

She waited as he organized his thoughts.

“I understand that the Force was showing us what we needed to see the most, and I don’t know what precisely Leia’s visions were. But  _ my  _ visions  — they depicted a man that I wish I had  _ never  _ seen. I know that’s selfish of me, to want to simply erase all the bad that Vader did while he still had Anakin’s face, but mother… Every time I close my eyes, I see him trying to kill you, and I can’t  _ breathe.  _ Mother, I can’t breathe knowing what you went through, what  _ he  _ put you through, and as if that hadn’t been enough, your children were taken from you, and… and…”

Luke took both his hands to his face, hiding the quiet tears that ran down his cheeks. He forced himself to breathe, and lowered his hands back down, revealing his reddened eyes and lifeless expression. Padmé ached from that sight of him.

“I think the Force wanted you to understand where Vader came from,” Padmé said, somehow interested at how different the twins’ visions had been, as Leia had been shown the immensity of Anakin’s love, while Luke had seen all the pain that eventually led to Anakin’s downfall. “Although Anakin is just as responsible for his descent to the Dark side, he only ever wanted to protect the people that he loved. He couldn’t fathom losing those that meant everything to him, and in his despair, he turned to an innate power that shouldn’t be touched. Anakin was a victim of the goodness of his heart, just as he was a victim of Palpatine, and a victim of the suit that enslaved Vader. And once everything that he had  _ killed  _ to achieve was striped away from him nonetheless, he had no reason to turn back to the lightness. Because the light had taken all his family away from him, while darkness had only promised to keep them alive forever. Even though darkness did not abide, darkness had  _ promised,  _ and that was more than light had ever done for him.”

This time, Luke didn’t hide the single tear that escaped his eye.

“Until… You came along, and you were ready to lose your life to Palpatine so determined that there was still good in him. For the first time, Vader came to see the light, and how the light only  _ gives.  _ The light gave him his son back, and a chance to try and undo his wrongs. Only when Anakin reached the light again that he understood all the suffering he had brought to the galaxy.”

Luke sniffed, unable to speak.

“I hope you don’t hear this as me trying to defend him,” Padmé said, “I could never defend him. Luke, I gave  _ my life  _ for the Republic, and Vader destroyed everything that I tried to achieve. As if that hadn’t been enough, he still hurt you, and Leia, and for that, I will always  _ hate  _ him. Even though I still love Anakin, and will always love Anakin.”

He quickly ran his hand against his cheek. “And you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“He didn’t only hurt Leia and I,” Luke said, his voice faltering, “He also hurt you. I feel like you try to erase the things he did to you, diminish them as if they never mattered. Well, they do, mother.”

By now, it was Padmé’s turns to have her eyes watering. “I’m just trying to be strong, Luke. To stand tall on my feet with what was left of me.”

He found it funny, if anything, that both Leia and Padmé spoke about what was left of them once the worst happened to them. But that was wrong; they might have been stolen of the person they were before, but they had never lost their essence. So long as their essences prevailed, they would never turn into something  _ less _ .

“Mother, you don’t have to try and be strong when strength is already embedded into who you are,” Luke argued, knowing how uncomfortable she became when she was the one through the magnifying glass, as well as knowing the importance of showing her he was just a safe haven as she was to him. “That said, there lies no weakness amidst vulnerability.  _ You  _ taught me as much.”

Padmé chuckled softly — she didn’t deserve him. 

“I want you to be comfortable coming to us when you  _ need  _ us,” Luke said, “For the past decades, you were forced to live a life that wasn’t your own, and you were taught how to suppress everything regarding the name that wasn’t yours anymore. But you’re here now, you’re Padmé again, and I  _ need  _ you to understand that you can let it out when you need. Leia and I will be there for you. I can promise you as much.”

She smiled, and her smile held all her gratitude. “I know, Luke. And I appreciate it more than you can imagine.”

Luke returned her smile, and for a while, he expectantly looked at her like she would start divulging her burdens to him right on the spot. When she didn’t, Luke simply shrugged. They had the rest of their lives to get to know each other.

“Wow, all this conversation has taken a lot more of me than I expected,” Luke said, his tone more alive than before. “There’s only one way I know of cheering us back up.”

Padmé tilted her head, a little interested, and when it hit her, she rolled her eyes at him.

“More ice cream?”

Smirking excitedly, Luke conceded, “You’ve read my mind,” and he eagerly grabbed her by the hand. Content with himself, and with the things that he came to understand, as he had run the risk of being intimate with his brokenness and it only made him stronger than before.

* * *

The following morning, when Luke Skywalker stopped by the Millennium Falcon wearing his brand new clothes, looking like a prince himself, Han and Leia could only stare at him with consternation. 

Luke seemed to miss their faces of bewilderment, joining the couple at the game table with his heads on the clouds and softly humming songs to himself. 

Leia exchanged a look with Han, hiding her smirk behind her hand — her  _ brother _ , looking so fashionable; now that was something she never thought she would see in her lifetime. 

Han chuckled at her reaction, and then snapped at Luke, “What the hell happened to you?”

“Hm?” Luke was caught off guard, at last acknowledging the dirty looks they were offering him. “Oh, you mean my clothes?”

Han made a face to say —  _ what else would it be? _

A little self consciously, Luke giggled. “ _ Padmé. _ ”

He searched for his sister's eyes, hoping for some kind of approval — since  _ she  _ was the most stylish person he knew. And when she gave him a strong nod, with a proud smile stamped across her lips, his self-consciousness disappeared. 

And they all followed normally with their day, safe for one or another petty comment from Han regarding his new stylish choices. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall left me so little feedback the last chapter, I know you can do better thant that :(


	33. Thirty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song for the chapter - [daughter by sleeping at last](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyxrmGs_Ckg&ab_channel=TheInspirationalMind)
> 
> tw: this chapter holds mentions of sexual assault

When Sabbath day came at the end of the week, Padmé thought it to be a great opportunity to get Leia away from her responsibility and out into the polluted atmosphere of Coruscant.

Granted — taking Leia away from her duty proved to be one of the hardest tasks of her life because the princess didn’t seem to grasp the concept of a day off. When Padmé came to fetch her in the Falcon, she found Han alone there, and upon asking about her daughter’s whereabouts, the smuggler gave her a dirty look and scoffed at her face.

“Leia? Taking a day off?” Han had prompted, mocking Padmé for apparently such a _stupid_ question. “Good luck with that.”

Determined to prove Han _wrong,_ above everything else, Padmé set out to fetch Leia, and she would drag the princess out by the wrist if necessary.

It hadn’t been, although Padmé had put into practice her rhetorical skills as she spent a good fifteen minutes simply watching Leia ignore her as she tried to convince her to take the day off. Padmé even tempted her with the prospect of them getting _ice cream,_ only to be ridiculed by the princess.

“Who do you think I am, _Luke_ ?!” Leia had belittled her _and_ her brother at the same time. “Your little tricks might work with him, but it takes me more than the promise of an _ice cream treat_ to maneuver me.”

Padmé had laughed, while still trying to defend herself, “ _Luke_ was the one to ask to go out for ice cream. I myself was very against the idea of us — _him_ — having seven cups of ice cream for lunch.”

In response, Leia had rolled her eyes at her brother. “You see — that’s exactly _why_ we were so keen on keeping Luke away from ice cream for as long as we could. He’s become _miserable_ ever since you let him wander off and try it for the first time. It’s the only thing he talks about!”

All things considered, Luke _did_ seem to be a little too eager regarding such a simple dessert, but Padmé found his excitement over the smallest things too precious to say anything. _And_ a malefic part of her overly enjoyed watching him tell Ameera about how he had tried ice cream from her homeworld, only to have her look at him dead in the eyes and say, “I’ve never even been to Ryloth,” and have Luke’s entire world collapse around him.

Which wasn’t true _at all_ — Padmé was acutely aware that Ameera had been born and spent the majority of her teen years in Ryloth, but the look of defeat taking over Luke’s features had been too amusing for her to reprimand Ameera.

Despite the dramatics of the galactical event known as _Luke Skywalker’s first taste of ice cream_ , Padmé accomplished to get Leia out of the headquarters, _with_ the promise that they wouldn’t be out too long and Leia would be back to get at least half a day of work done — a promise that, all things considered, Padmé didn’t mind breaking at all.

Feeling like she wouldn’t be doing motherhood right if she didn’t equally spoil her children, Padmé set out the pretense that she needed new clothes, considering that her clothes as Paz Naminé didn’t do _justice_ to the Padmé name — which was somehow accurate — and Padmé took Leia to a fancy shop in the busy districts of Coruscant. 

Padmé took in the opportunity to look at some dresses for herself — after all, leaving there empty-handed would leave Leia suspicious of her ulterior motives, although Padmé had been _convinced_ that Leia called her bluff the moment Padmé suggested it, and had simply been too attentive to go with it. 

Still, Padmé couldn’t help but discreetly smile as she noticed Leia fiddling around the dresses in the corner of her eyes. Ever so innocently, the mother suggested, “Why don’t you try it on? I think you would look good on it.”

And both mother and daughter eventually followed together to the dressing room. Padmé left the store with three new dresses, while Leia contented herself with just one, which Padmé insisted on paying despite Leia’s evident embarrassment over such a frivolous thing. 

Padmé _knew_ that she didn’t have to, that Leia was a wealthy princess well off for the rest of her life. Still, she wanted to; she wanted to reclaim the triviality of buying her daughter a gift for the sole reason that she _wanted_ to. And if Leia didn’t return to her normal color for hours to come, then so be it.

If the only lasting bumps in her relationship with her daughter resolved around Leia becoming uncomfortable over the simple aspect of her mother buying her a nice dress, then Padmé happily welcomed the rest of her life.

Now, and for the actual important part of their — _Padmé’s_ — day, the two women stood outside a fancy apartment complex in the Senate district, where Padmé Amidala had once resided during her terms as the appointed Senator from Naboo. For several minutes, Padmé simply stood in front of the entrance door, wondering if she was ready to open the door to her past as well as to her future. And the worst was — she didn’t even know if the penthouse was still on her name! She had yet to find the courage to seek out her relatives on Naboo and fully establish her life both as Amidala and Naberrie, and she had no guarantees that somebody else hadn’t moved into the apartment she had once called home.

Leia offered her all the space she needed, not once saying anything, or even looking directly at her. More than anybody, Leia recognized the importance of personal space, as well as taking things on their own tempo, rather than being pressured into hurrying by outsiders. Padmé had always given Leia the time and the space she needed to cope with the burdens of her past; it was time Leia did the same.

Only when Padmé’s eyes drifted from the door towards the biometric scanner that she dared to say something.

“I guess this is it, then.”

Even so, Padmé did not bring herself to move.

Wanting to support her as much as she could, Leia stepped to her side, their shoulders gently brushing. 

“So your plan is to just,” Leia prompted, “Try to have your biometrics scanned, and if it works, good. If it doesn’t—”

“We’ll just run away as fast as we can before we set off the alarms,” Padmé replied levelly, trying to sound as natural as possible.

Leia chuckled at her tone. “Can you even — run as fast as you can?”

Padmé turned her head sideways to give the princess a dirty look. “Are you calling me _old_?”

Leia held her hands up in the air. “I’m just saying, what was the last time you actually ran away from peril as if your life depended on it?”

“Yesterday night, when Ameera thought it would be funny to place a huge bitz bug under my covers and gave me the startle of my life.”

This time, Leia’s snort was loud. “Where did she even find a bitz bug?”

Padmé sighed profoundly. “I know better than to ask Ameera any questions that would encourage her behavior by now.”

“Do you think she has any to spare?” Leia asked, out of the blue, “I’d love to put one under Luke’s pillow.”

Padmé reprimanded the daughter with a piercing glare. “I will not encourage _you_ to bully your brother either, Leia.”

Leia simply shrugged; she was a resourceful person, she absolutely had the means to torment her brother if she wanted to, and Padmé _knew_ as much.

“That’s okay,” she said, “Luke being aware that we’re having a great day out _without him_ is already tormenting him enough.”

Padmé rolled her eyes, although that much was true. Earlier that day, when she was having breakfast with her son and mentioned to him that she intended to take Leia out for the day, the sudden jealousy on his face was evident, and Padmé had been forced to hold her sneer back. He even dared to ask if he could tag along, but when she explained that it was a girls day only, his poorly hidden disappointment was ludicrous, and just one other reason why she loved him so much.

Still, the mother in her couldn’t help but lecturing, “Be nice to your brother,” and Leia scoffed in return.

Padmé forced herself to take a deep breath before taking one step ahead. One step ahead, and that was enough for her to get cold feet again as her eyes returned to the front door again.

“Padmé,” this time, Leia didn’t allow her to brood in silence. “May I speak freely?”

“I have a feeling that you will nonetheless.”

Leia wouldn’t — but since she had already gotten permission, she dared, “You would save yourself a lot of anxiety if you reached out to them.”

Padmé frowned. “Them?!”

“Your family,” Leia clarified, even if she knew that Padmé understood who she was talking about and was stalling. “You’re about to open a door to your past that you never got to close yourself, and I understand the amount of unsolved issues your _death_ brought. But Padmé… When your family has you coming back from the dead, I promise you nothing else will matter.”

Padmé bit down on her lips hard, listening to her daughter’s words and wishing that she could take them to heart.

Instead—

“I’m not anxious,” she snapped, and as if to prove herself — and make most of the sudden boost of courage — she walked towards the scanner, pointed her eyes at it, and waited with her heart pounding in her chest for the two seconds that it took to recognize her. After that, she could almost breathe again.

Bracing herself, Padmé slid the door open, and she was face to face with her past once more. She stepped inside, Leia following close behind.

“Time seemed to freeze around here,” Padmé commented to herself, slowly walking around the apartment, her fingers running across every dusty surface she came across. “Nothing’s changed. It’s just like I left it.”

Leia nodded, finding a counter where she dropped the bags with their new dresses. “It’s a beautiful place.”

“It was, it really was,” Padmé said distractedly, and every corner she looked at brought her a different memory from her past; memories of her handmaidens, memories of Anakin, memories of her pregnancy. She saw those memories clearly, like they were happening in front of her very eyes, and not even time would dare to disturb them.

Leia couldn’t fail to notice that Padmé had abruptly changed the verb tense to the past, and suddenly that place started to weigh around her. She could feel so much love there, she felt — so much _life._ That had been the place in which love and life once blossomed, and not even the tricks of time were powerful enough to erase the print those feelings had left there.

 _She and Luke were supposed to grow up together here,_ she thought to herself, her hand pressed against the wall as she allowed the feelings of _belonging_ to consume her. _Padmé was supposed to have her happily ever after here._

She closed her eyes as the feelings depleted her — _there was still time._

So, she said, “It still is.”

Padmé chuckled nervously, forced to agree.

“Hey, Padmé?”

She heard her name being called, but it took her a few seconds to leave her trance and find her daughter amidst the hollowness of the apartment.

“Did you ever set up a baby room?”

The question caught her so off guard — and she couldn’t help but smile widely at Leia’s sudden interest.

“I didn’t, no,” she said regrettably, slowly walking back to the spot by the entrance that Leia had found for herself. “There might be some baby stuff around, but… I wanted to raise you on Naboo. Somewhere where you could feel the brush and nature and where you could run and be free. Not here.”

Leia smiled sadly, once more being struck with a wave of _rage_ directed at the cruelty of the universe for having taken it all away from Padmé.

“I can sense how much Naboo means to you.”

Padmé nodded, resting her elbow over a dusty balcony in front of Leia. “It means a lot.”

“Which brings me back to the question,” Leia looked at her intently, and the swift change of her tone was enough to make Padmé scowl. “ _Why_ haven’t you reached out to your family?!”

She sighed exaggeratedly, resting her head over the palm of her hand. “Are you going to yell at me again?” she asked, reminiscing the time Leia nearly lost it at the dinner table because she couldn’t accept Padmé’s dread of finding her family.

Leia shrugged. “Not yet.”

Padmé scoffed, the princess’s answer not surprising her in the slightest.

“Okay, picture this,” Padmé started, “How would you feel if your parents, Bail and Breha, were alive? That you spent the last four years grieving for them in vain?”

“Padmé,” Leia said softly, somehow uncomfortable with the question. “You know that there’s nothing I wish more than to have my parents back with me.”

“I understand that, and I respect that, but Leia — you aren’t hearing my question,” she imposed, “How would you _feel_ if you came to learn your parents were alive, and purposefully hid themselves from you under the pretense that you’d be kept safe, and instead you were all alone in the immensity of the galaxy?”

“Padmé, _you’re_ not hearing me,” Leia stood her ground. “If my parents were to unexpectedly walk through that door right now, when I thought they were _dead_ and gone forever, I’d welcome them with open arms. No, I would physically throw myself over them and hug them so tightly and just allow myself to be in their embrace _one more time_. What you’re suggesting — in the rare occasions that I have good dreams, that’s all I dream about.”

Padmé swallowed hard, feeling a little guilty that she would open up this door of emotions from Leia. At the same time — she was _happy_ that the princess finally felt comfortable enough next to her to open up. 

“All right. But what about afterward? Once you’ve settled in, once you’ve grown adjusted to this new life with _them_ again. It’s only reasonable that you’d become angry at the pain they’ve put you through. You can’t pretend there would be only happiness and eagerness there. ”

“Yes, I can,” Leia said harshly, “Padmé, I don’t — I don’t think you understand the _pain_ of losing someone unexpectedly, without having the chance to say goodbye. Of course, you lost your children before you even met them, and I don’t mean at all to diminish the pain that event brought you, but — you never met them, Padmé. Meanwhile, your parents, your sister, all those people that unconditionally loved you, they had to bury you without ever saying goodbye, barely able to understand _why_ they were burying you. That’s a kind of wound that — doesn’t heal. No matter how much time it passes by, it might get easier to breathe, but the pain is always there, lurking in the shadows, and it strikes you in the most unexpected moments. And what I _need_ you to understand is that, no matter what happened, once your family sees you again, there will only be joy there. _Only_ joy.”

Padmé watched Leia with a tight heart; burdened that her daughter had come to be so wise at such a young age, when all she ever wanted was for her children to have the innocence of their youth preserved.

The war had taken it all from them. _Vader_ took it all from them.

“The little things are the hardest, you know?” Leia continued to speak once Padmé became lost in her silence; by then, her voice had become hoarse. “The other day, I found myself stuck with the question, what would my parents think of Han? Would they lose _their mind_ over him or would they accept Han despite his troubled past and his butchered lineage? Those little things — they hurt the most, because I’m _never_ getting that. I’ll never see my father losing his mind at the prospect of my dating choices, and I’ll never have my mother giving me her blessing when I tell her that _he’s_ the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. I’d do _anything_ to have this again, because the little things are worth incredibly more than the grandiose.”

Somewhere during her words, her vision had become blurry. Leia forced herself to calm down.

“There’s still time for you to make up for all the little things that were stolen from them.”

Padmé was thankful that Leia didn’t say — _all the little things that Padmé stole from them._ In moments like this, words made all the difference, and Leia knew as much.

Clearing her throat, Padmé took one cautious step towards Leia. “Your father was an honorable man, Leia. He defined people by their characters, not by their blood.”

Leia scoffed lightly. “Yeah. Pretty sure those standards might differ when your _daughter_ comes marching home with a smuggler in tow.”

Although Padmé laughed, her laugh was contained. “ _Granted,_ but — your father would have come around eventually. _Your mother_ would have knocked some sense into him.”

Leia smiled; yes, that was the kind of woman her mother had been.

“I don’t appreciate you trying to shift the conversation from yourself, by the way,” Leia warned, her voice very serious.

Although Padmé rolled her eyes, it came from a good place. “I will reach out to them, alright? I promise. Not — _immediately,_ no, I’d like to properly settle things around here before I make any contact with them, but… I will. I promise.”

A little content with how the conversation had ended, Leia offered her a strong nod of approval.

“And — can I be a little bold?”

Leia looked down on her and quoted her words from before, “I have a feeling that you will either way.”

“I think you made a perfect choice for yourself,” Padmé said, ignoring Leia’s sassy remark. “Han, I mean. You are his entire world, and he makes sure that the world knows as much. Above all, he makes you happy, and it’s _beautiful_ to see how you light up when you’re next to him. If you’re wondering, because of your lineage, because of your _parents,_ whether Han is the right choice? Well, he _is._ I love Han, I _approve_ Han, Han goes out of his way to make sure you know how much love he has for you, and — had your parents stuck around to see this for themselves, they would have loved and approved Han, too.”

“You’re right,” Leia said, eyes looking up so her emotions wouldn’t start getting the best of her. “That was very bold of you.”

Padmé nodded; she had expected as much. “But was it worth it?”

Pressing her lips together, her answer took a while to come.

“Yeah. I think — I think I wanted to hear that more than I knew.”

Padmé gently placed her hand in Leia’s arm as a single tear ran down Leia’s cheek.

“Come on, happy thoughts,” Padmé said, squeezing her arm, “This is supposed to be a happy day.”

Leia choked a laugh, before agreeing with her head.

“I am happy,” she said, both girls starting to walk side by side to further investigate the apartment. “As I said — it’s the little things. They strike out of nowhere, and it’s like I can’t remember ever being happy.”

Padmé nodded, her eyes studying every little detail of what was once her home while listening attentively to her daughter. “Have you — Have you ever considered talking to someone? Professionally, I mean. You don’t have to suffer alone, Leia, and maybe they could help you.”

“Hm,” Leia agreed absently, her eyes and mind rather focused on a painting on the wall. “I did see someone. After the battle of Yavin. Mon Mothma — well, she always felt like she had an obligation of looking after me, ever since the catastrophe, and I do appreciate it. She made me see a therapist, to help me cope both with Alderaan and the Death Star, but… Well, it’s _hard_ to connect with someone with whom your pain isn’t tangible, but only a concept. I don’t know how to trust someone who has never _understood_ pain.”

From the opposite side of the room, Padmé compressed her lips in a thin line, thinking. “You have to remind yourself, Leia, that _you’re_ the patient. A therapist can’t be expected to burden you with their personal matters, not when you’re already struggling too much to carry your own burden.”

Leia’s throat became very dry. 

“It was just a suggestion, anyway,” Padmé said, “Therapy doesn’t necessarily work for all people, what matters is that you find a healthy way to cope with your personal tragedies. I just — I hate seeing you like this, Leia.”

Leia shivered, feeling very vulnerable under her words. 

“I know,” she agreed in a small voice. “I don’t very much enjoy being like this, either. But I manage.”

Padmé sighed, unsure of what else she could say.

“I thought this was a happy day,” Leia protested, finally turning on her back to look at Padmé again. “Where we’re supposed to only talk about happy things.”

Shrugging, Padmé judged herself capable of putting matters of the heart aside for the time being.

“Actually, there _is_ something I’ve been meaning to ask you, regarding Han,” Padmé swiftly changed the subject as Leia gazed at her with interest. “Is it true? About Han being frozen in carbonite?”

Of course, she already knew it to be true — Han had told her himself, while proceeding to say that that story mostly belonged to _Leia,_ not him; after all, he had spent the entirety of it safely hibernating. So, she asked Leia.

“Oh yeah. My daddy dearest invited us to a dinner party and when he didn’t like my boyfriend, he decided to break us apart by freezing him in carbonite and _hoping_ he would die in the process.

Padmé gazed at her with horror in her eyes, her jaw fallen down. When Leia scoffed at her reaction, she was forced to swallow her backlash and pretend it had never happened at all.

“I’m joking — mostly,” Leia said, then shivered to herself. “That was essentially what happened. Han and I were walking to dinner when we were caught by Vader’s ambush, and things went downhill from there. He took Han away, tortured him, didn’t even ask him questions,” she took a deep breath in, looking down on her feet. “Vader — wanted Luke, so he hurt Han so Luke would come back to save him. And… He made me watch, as they tortured Han, hoping that… I would _break_ at the sight of someone I loved being hurt, and would spare secrets of the rebellion to spare Han’s pain.”

Padmé gazed at her with small eyes; she already knew as much, but hearing it from the person that had been forced to watch as they did despicable things to the person she loved affected her differently.

“You didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” Leia agreed. “How could I? Sacrifice the greater good for personal, selfish reasons? I would _never_ betray my morals like that.”

Padmé didn’t say anything — she didn’t believe things to be so black and white like that. Not anymore.

“Besides,” Leia continued, her voice now softer than the harshness of before, “They told me they would hurt Alderaan if I didn’t speak. I spoke, and they hurt Alderaan either way. Why would I ever trust anything that the Empire told me again?”

“They would just carry on hurting Han,” Padmé stated the obvious, taking one step closer to Leia then stopping dead on her track.

“Yeah,” Leia consented and ran her hand tiredly against her eyes. “And as if all that pain hadn’t been enough, Vader prepared a carbon chamber to freeze Han in. It was meant for Luke, but since they couldn’t guarantee that Luke would survive the procedure, they tested it out on Han first. I… I was certain that I would watch him die. Just like I had watched Alderaan.”

Padmé’s face became white and she wrapped her arms around herself. The story of what precisely had happened aboard the Death Star had never been cleared, and the notion that they had forced Leia to watch as they destroyed her planet made her sick to her stomach.

“They made you watch?”

“Hm? Yeah,” Leia replied, distracted with the memories of the past — it didn’t even occur to her that Padmé might have been asking about Alderaan. “It’s a miracle that Han survived, because the facility was only adequate for carbon freezing, not… _human_ freezing. The chances of him dying were so big, and Han _knew_ as much. He… He was not ready to die, and I had just found him, and I wasn’t ready to lose him, either. I know this is stupid, but… I believe that’s the only reason he survived when all the odds were against him. Because his time simply hadn’t come yet.”

“It’s not stupid,” Padmé spoke gently.

Leia shot her shoulders up and down, and went on to pacing around the apartment once more. 

Unsure of what else to do, Padmé did the same, however this time she kept herself a tad closer to the princess.

“The side effects of the freezing must have been terrible,” Padmé commented, running her fingers alongside a small sculpture over the wooden corner table. “Not only was it barbarian what they did to him, but they also did it without any precautions for his health.”

“Hm,” Leia hummed, eyes diverting towards the huge balcony that revealed the beauty of the Coruscant skyline. “Let’s just say it wasn’t easy to escape an evil crime lord when you had to fetch for a blinded Han.”

Without thinking much into it, Padmé asked, “Crime lord?”

And just like that, the color faded from Leia’s face.

“Yeah.”

Padmé frowned at the sudden shift of Leia’s tone, and she searched for the princess with a worried heart. When she found her, she was staring out the window, although her mind wasn’t there.

“Leia?”

When Leia came back to herself, she quivered.

“Han had a bounty on his head, so after he was frozen in the carbonite, he was taken by a bounty hunter,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. Like she was hollow. “We spent months looking for him, and meticulously planning how to infiltrate Jabba’s palace and rescue him,” and she realized that Padmé had no idea who Jabba was. She sighed. “Jabba, a…”

“Jabba the Hutt?” Padmé asked, perplexed. Her eyes wide, because she knew exactly who Jabba was, and everything he was capable of.

“Yeah,” Leia said, her arms now folded across her chest. “You… You know him?”

“I do,” she replied, sharing Leia’s discomfort as she reminisced the crime lord. “As much as _anyone_ would like to admit, Jabba the Hutt holds immense power amidst the Outer Rim territories. It was no different during the Clone Wars, and we needed his trading route for safe passage within the Outer Rim, so, of course, both the Republic and the Separatists were trying to win Jabba’s favor.”

She briefly paused to steal a glance of Leia; however, Leia had completely pulled her face away from Padmé.

Padmé cleared her throat. “During the war, Jabba’s son was kidnapped, and Anakin was the Jedi tasked to find his son and safely return him to Tatooine, in the hopes that that would give access to Jabba’s trading routes. Learning about his mission, I reached out to Anakin; there was a lot of diplomacy involved and diplomacy was _not_ Anakin’s strongest suit. So, I interfered, and I helped him get Jabba’s son safely back to him while also assuring the Republic of safe passage through the Outer Rim.”

Leia was static. Her breathing was so quiet that Padmé doubted she was breathing at all.

And when her voice came, it was filled with emotions that Padmé had never seen before.

“You helped him,” Leia accused, and her vision began to swim threateningly as her face became white and the world started spinning around her. Crushing her. She felt herself getting sick. “You helped—”

“Anakin was my husband, Leia,” Padmé said with a frown, failing to comprehend why that notion had triggered Leia when Leia had spoken about Anakin and Padmé’s love for one another. Leia _understood_ that; what had suddenly changed? “I would always help him—”

“—Jabba?”

Padmé tilted her head, confused; had Leia not been listening to her story at all? Not only that, but Leia was a _diplomat,_ and she had been the youngest member of the Imperial Senate — of course she understood the importance of making the right connections, _even_ if they went against one’s personal convictions. Then why did she suddenly look like life had been drained from her?

“Well… Yeah,” Padmé concurred without any eloquence as she tried to assess what was happening. “Jabba was crucial to guaranteeing our victory—”

Before she could finish whatever she had to say, Leia unexpectedly excused herself and rushed away from Padmé with her hand pressed to her mouth, and Padmé wasn’t sure where exactly Leia was headed. Not until the princess disappeared within one of the bedrooms — coincidentally the one that had belonged to Padmé and Anakin — and she heard the fresher door closing with a thud.

Padmé stood there with her lips half-open in confusion for a few seconds, and that was all the time she allowed herself before she hurried after Leia, her mother instincts taking over her.

Yet, when she reached just outside the fresher and had her fist hanging in the air, ready to knock, she stopped. Froze within herself as she heard Leia retching, and instead of barging in, Padmé placed her forehead and the open palm of her hands against the wooden surface of the door, _praying_ that her presence there would remind Leia that she wasn’t alone, and she would never be. 

Hopefully, the Force would carry on her message.

From this side of the door, she couldn’t do anything other than wait.

And when turmoil became silence, and silence prevailed for eternities, Padmé could feel tingles of anticipation running down her spice.

“Leia?” she called for her daughter once her worry could not be refrained anymore. “Leia — Talk to me, please.”

Her plea was desperate, yet no answer came.

“Leia,” Padmé tried again, her heart pulsating erratically inside of her, “I just need to know that you’re okay. _Please_ , Leia.”

Silence still reigned for a while, until it didn’t, and Padmé heard movement from inside. Heavy steps against the floor, the toilet flushing, water running from the sink, water splashing. A deep breath. 

Padmé trod back as she heard steps coming towards the door and sat down by the mattress, her posture perfectly intact. Her hands anxiously holding one another as she waited for Leia to come out.

When she did, she couldn’t bring herself to look at her mother in the eyes. The color had drained from her cheeks and her lips, while her eyes had become red and shot up. She was alerted to her surroundings, despite looking like she had just fought a war — and lost. She held to the door frame for a few seconds, certifying of her own balance, before stumbling towards the bed with trembling limbs and falling down the mattress without any class. She sat far away from Padmé, and, without realizing it, their stances were the same.

Padmé studied her appearance from afar. Her body was stiff, almost petrified, safe for her hands fidgeting with one another over her own lap. Her eyes fixated on a random spot but would occasionally glance downwards. And when Padmé expired verbosely while her body slightly turned towards Leia so she would start talking, Leia evidently flinched at the suddenness of the movement, only to have her face filled with shame upon the realization of her reaction.

The mother worried about her sudden reaction, as she hadn’t intended to violate Leia’s personal space _nor_ did she think that a simple gesture would be enough to do it. Recognizing the importance of proceeding carefully, Padmé gently and slowly brought her legs up the mattress while she shifted her body entirely towards the daughter. She was afraid that her eyes on Leia would only further break Leia’s privacy, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away.

“I’m sorry,” she started, and her caution had been worth it — Leia was prepared for the moment and therefore didn’t wince.“I didn’t mean to startle you, or trigger you,” she sighed, bracing herself for what was to follow, “Leia — Are you okay?”

Which was a foolish question when the answer was so clear. But for her own peace of mind, she _needed_ to ask, and she wanted nothing more than to hear Leia stubbornly saying she _was_ fine, and maybe, just maybe, Padmé could bring herself to believe it.

“No,” Leia replied levelly, looking down on her hands nervously. “And I’m tired of pretending.”

Padmé bit on her lip; she hadn’t expected such a heartfelt confession, much less the impotence it would bring her. Both of them. Leia was as a foreigner to the dimension of her feelings as Padmé was.

“Jabba—” Leia tried to enunciate, but the simple mention of that name brought the taste of bile to her mouth, and she thought she would become ill again. “He — he makes me sick to my stomach.”

Padmé nodded, saying nothing more. There wasn’t much to be said.

“Made,” Leia corrected herself, because it _was_ supposed to make a difference, even if it didn’t feel like it. “He no longer lives.”

Padmé’s eyes widened — at least something _good_ to come out from their day.

“Jabba died?”

“I killed him.”

Padmé nodded once more, thinking — _good for her._ But when her mind connected the dots and she remembered as Leia said that she had choked the _beast_ that had enslaved her to death, she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“Oh, Leia,” Padmé cried, realizing her voice held a tone of pity that wasn’t supposed to be there. “I… He got what he deserved.”

“Yeah,” she reluctantly agreed. “I hate him, Padmé. For the things he did to me, to — to Han.”

Padmé swallowed uncomfortably, the mention of Han now making her understand why he had said that the story of his carbonite freezing belonged to Leia only. Opposite to her, Leia was stiff, her back straightened perfectly and her head suddenly raised high — like the simple mention of his name had been enough to have her believe she was back on Tatooine, being forced to keep her posture intact to those watching her.

Even though Padmé didn’t know, she noticed the sudden shift in her body language.

“It’s over now, Leia,” Padmé said. “You’re safe. You’re _alive_.”

In response, Leia shook her head, refuting every word of encouragement that came on her way. “I don’t feel — like it’s over. I don’t feel like it will ever be. There isn’t a tangible cure when the wounds damage your soul.”

“You’re wrong,” Padmé said gently, crossing her legs in front of her as she tried to ease her stance from tension. “The cure comes with time, and patience, and _love_ — love both from those around you and your own self. You need to be gentle with you, and your scars, and you need to have the patience that time will fix this wound.”

“No,” Leia cried softly. “The things you mentioned — time, patience, love — they _mend._ However, they do not heal.”

Padmé fell out of words.

“Nobody knows that better than you and I,” Leia said. “The pain becomes stale, but it never truly heals. We just learn how to live with it, be it from our own volition or everybody else’s.”

Padmé agreed sadly.

“You’re right, the wounds of our past never leave us,” she lamented, “But neither do they define us, who we are or who we come to be. They are part of our story, but they aren’t writing it. Leia, you have a past, a _painful_ past, but you also have a future. You can count on both.”

The notion was beautiful, and Leia wanted to smile — if only she weren’t so afraid of doing so. 

Unfortunately, the mother could read Leia’s emotions all too well. Because she had once been the same; still was.

“You don’t have to be afraid of happiness.”

Leia forced herself to take a deep breath. “Happiness fades away too easily.”

“It does,” Padmé agreed. “But never allowing yourself to be happy over the fear of the possibility of a letdown isn’t the way to live. That’s just — existing, and life is too rare and beautiful for us not to live it.”

“Beautiful?” for the first time, Leia dared to look at Padmé, and her eyes were written with despair. “How can _you_ call life beautiful, when you know better than that, Padmé? Life is — ugly. It’s full of fathers trying to kill mothers, of children being taken from mothers, of planets being obliterated until there’s nothing left. Ugliness reigns life, and there’s little we can do about it.”

“Life is beautiful,” Padmé rebuked, her voice firm. “Two strangers finding an orphaned little girl and raising her with all the love and caring in the world. Long lost siblings finding their way back to each other and finally being complete. Luke being so excited about something as frivolous as ice cream and never shutting up about it. You laying your head on my shoulder. Life is beautiful, and we can’t allow the bad moments to taint it, otherwise, beauty won’t prevail when beauty _must_ prevail.”

Leia’s eyes became glossy; Padmé’s voice softened.

“You don’t need me telling you this, Leia,” she carried on. “You already know. You _know,_ Leia, otherwise you wouldn’t have built a rebellion from your grief and refused to stand down until the Empire was defeated. You created beauty out of ugliness, and that will always be your essence.”

Leia chewed on her lip, wrapping her arms around herself as she forced the tears away from her eyes — failing; they didn’t descend her cheeks, but neither did they go away. She sniffed, her body bent forward as she excessively stared down at the floor, wanting nothing more than to believe Padmé’s words while failing to hear them.

She hugged herself tightly and closed her eyes when the stinging became too much; she gathered all of that was left of her strength and—

“It was so cold on Tatooine,” Leia started, unexpectedly, and her heart beated as erratically as Padmé’s. “Have you ever been to Tatooine? The nights — they’re so cold.”

She was lost amidst her flux of consciousness; it didn’t matter that she already knew that Padmé had been to Tatooine, it didn’t matter that Padmé chose to remain silent instead of answering. She was talking, and she was lost amidst her own words, and she could do nothing more than talk while Padmé listened.

“Everything happened so fast, and everything happened so slow. An out of body experience. I relished every terror they inflicted on my body to my core, but it also felt like I was watching them inflict those horrors on somebody else. And all I could think — _it was so cold._ I was so cold. Sometimes it’s like I still can’t escape the cold.”

Leia suddenly shivered; almost like she was back on the cold nights of Tatooine.

“I’m sorry. I don’t suppose that makes much sense.”

“It makes sense,” Padmé assured, unsure of what the princess was apologizing for. 

She gritted her teeth and pulled her legs up. Trying to make herself less exposed to the cold.

“It was so cold,” she said once again, this time wrapping her arms around her legs. “I thought I was adjusted to freezing temperatures, after being sanctioned on Hoth for so long. I used to think that nothing could be as bad as Hoth. Except — nobody stripped me down in Hoth.”

If her heart was thundering before, now it had essentially stopped beating. Whatever did she mean — _strip her down_ —?

“They forced me out of my garnish and into a — a golden metal bikini,” Leia forced the words out, answering the question in the air and almost having all of her oxygen stolen from her. “It was — I never felt so humiliated.”

Padmé thought she knew what it was like to have her heart aching. However, that pain only struck her at that moment, hearing what they had done to her daughter.

“Leia—” she tried, even if her words were stuck on her throat; she knew she had to say something, she knew she was supposed to try and make things better — but she wasn’t that powerful. Nothing could _ever_ make it better. So, she forced her emotions deep inside of her and asked, “What can I do, Leia?”

In comparison, Leia was hit by a threatening wave of emotions at such a simple question. She couldn’t bring herself to answer it, but the comfort of being _asked_ almost promised her that things _would_ be better. Even if it didn't seem like it.

In the end, there was only one answer to Padmé’s question — _she could listen._

“I… I’m a rather reserved person. I don’t — I don’t _like_ people looking at me like _that_. I know, I’m a leader in a rebellion mostly filled by men, of course they will look, and they will fantasize, I’m well aware of that. This is why I’ve done my part to hide every bit of femininity in me for the past years, and mostly, I succeeded. But — it’s different, when you’re forced to dress like that, and they sexualize you, and point at you, and laugh at you, and touch you. It’s different, Padmé, I swear it is.”

In a desperate hurry, Padmé crawled towards her. Forgotten about Leia’s previous reaction to the suddenness of her movements and relieved when this time she didn’t startle her. And she was next to her, never once daring to touch her, only being _there_ by her side and breathing in the same broken oxygen.

“I know,” she said softly, for the sole reason she didn’t want Leia to think she wasn’t being heard. Her eyes burned, and not a single tear fell from them.

“They,” Leia wanted so desperately to speak up about what had happened, to say it aloud so she would lift the weight off her lungs and find the peace to breathe again — except the words were so hard to say. “They…”

“I’m here, Leia,” Padmé promised, and her voice was so strong and reassuring that she surprised even herself. She didn’t know where her strength was coming from, but she deeply understood it fell upon her to be strong for both of them for the time being.

She could have said that it was okay to talk; she could have said that talking would do her good; instead — she promised she would be there, no matter what. She didn’t try to pressure her, or force her, and to Leia, it made all the difference.

“They threatened to hurt me, if I didn’t surrender and — and performed. I’m rather resilient when it comes to physical pain, you see. I can endure a whole lot before cracking. Or maybe not cracking at all. So their threats didn’t work. I would rather they hurt me than to play my — my part. When they realized that wouldn’t work, their threats… became vile. Instead, they threatened to hurt Han, to _kill_ Han if I didn’t abide. I couldn’t let them hurt Han again because of me, as Vader had on Bespin. I would never forgive myself if any further harm was inflicted upon Han because of me. I will always, _always_ do whatever I can to protect those I love.”

What she hadn’t said but was too loud not to be heard — _like she hadn’t protected Alderaan._

“They made me dance, _erotically_ dance, in front of an entire room filled with disgusting men,” she continued, barely giving her the chance to stop and breathe. _Like ripping off a bandaid._ “All why wearing that stupid sex slave outfit, so they could sexualize me, and point at me, and laugh at me, and… and… and…”

Padmé watched with an aching soul as Leia shut her eyes tightly and pulled her legs closer to her chest. Her lips were twitching, and Padmé wanted nothing more than to let her know it was _alright_ to feel. Nobody would judge her for that.

“I’m…” Leia choked on oxygen, “I’m sure you can figure out the rest.”

Padmé’s vision became blurry; she could, of course she could. If she hadn’t been so desperately trying to ignore it, she would have believed all the little signs that indicated something was terribly amiss. The princess had hidden it in plain sight, and Padmé could see it in her big sad eyes; eyes that said things that Leia never quite said, and Padmé had simply been too scared to hear.

But she heard it now, and even if it broke her heart, she would bear Leia’s pain as long as she needed.

“You have to say it, Leia,” Padmé gently said.

Leia shook her head. “I don’t want to.”

“You have to,” she repeated. “You have to accept it happened, no matter how much it hurts.”

“I…” a single tear fell down her cheek. “I _can’t._ I can’t say it.”

Padmé dragged herself forward until she was side by side with Leia, her shoulders almost touching. Still, she wouldn’t initiate any physical contact unless it was required. 

“Tell me what I can do, Leia.”

Leia’s eyes, now red and puffy, shot open, and her stare was lost for a long time.

“Can…” her voice was so hoarse she could barely be heard. “Can you hold my hand?”

Her request came so small and vulnerable; Padmé extended her hand to Leia, holding it open in front of her, giving Leia all the space and time to hold it back on her own tempo.

And when she did, she held it strongly, because all of her strength came from one simple and innocent physical link.

“I was sexually assaulted.”

That was all it took for her tears to freely fall from her eyes. She could not bear it anymore, so she let it all out. Terrified of being judged for it, even despite her better sense, yet unable to stop them.

Padmé held her hand tightly, rubbing the soft skin of her palm with both her thumbs. Doing _anything,_ as she recognized the importance of acting. Even if there was _so little_ she could do.

And it all made so much more sense now that they both admitted the unspeakable. Looking back, Padmé remembered all the little details that should have alerted her that something wasn’t _right_ — Leia flinching every time she was touched and startled; Leia declaring she would never trust another man; Leia saying that Han would be the only man she would ever lie with in a desperate attempt to deny and forget what had happened.

She pressed her lips together before they could start trembling; she could cry later, once away from Leia. Now, her only duty was to remain strong.

“You are not alone,” Padmé said, her voice sweet and firm. “I care about you, and I’m here to listen to you and to help you in any way I can.”

The words took Leia so by surprise that she choked a sob before she could constrain it, and she lowered her face self consciously, despising herself for breaking down in front of others.

“Leia,” Padmé called, trying to have the attention not only of her mind but of her _heart._ “It took you a lot of courage to tell me about this, and I’m _so proud_ of you. And I… I believe you, Leia.”

If anything, Padmé wasn’t helping _at all_ with Leia’s incessant flux of tears. She ran the back of her free hand against her eyes to no avail. “They… They didn’t rape me, but they still… _hurt_ me. In ways I thought I had mentally prepared myself for ever since I joined the rebellion and found myself in situations of disadvantage, but… There is no preparation for when it actually happens. And… I am — I _feel_ ugly. I feel like there’s only ugliness surrounding me, _inside_ of me, and I… I don’t know if it’ll ever be beautiful again. If I’ll ever be beautiful again. Most days, I don’t think I _want_ to be beautiful again.”

Padmé no longer knew if she were speaking metaphorically, literally, or both. Regardless, all that mattered was so she tried her best to break that line of thinking.

“ _No,_ Leia, that simply isn’t true,” she imposed, and without breaking the link between their hands, Padmé found herself kneeling in front of Leia, searching for her eyes and praying for a chance to have Leia glance at her. “Look at you, with your eyes, and your never giving up, and your kindness, and your resilience. All these little things that paint you _so beautiful,_ both inside and outside. You spread your light everywhere you go, Leia. Your perseverance and your refusal to stand down has saved _so many lives_ , and I know I can’t get you to believe me, but there’s nothing that I want more than for you to recognize your worth.”

Leia sniffed, silent tears still streaming down her cheeks. “What’s the point of saving everybody else if I end up losing myself in the end?”

“You’ll have all these people that you saved to rely on,” Padmé smiled tenderly, even when it felt _so wrong_ to smile. “You will have all these people to save _you._ And, Leia, there is nothing wrong with letting your guard down while others take care of you. There’s no weakness there, because vulnerability isn’t a stigma.”

When she realized her hands had started to tremble, Leia strongly fastened her grip around Padmé’s, trying to quieten them. Amidst her refusal to look at her mother, she simply nodded with her head and said, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Padmé repeated, struggling to find her balance to get back on her feet. This time, when she sat back in bed, she was closer than ever to Leia, although she didn’t break her personal space with unwanted touch. “Is there anything I can do, Leia?”

Leia became stiff, and the only sign she was still alive was the tears still falling from her eyes — she couldn’t get them to stop!

“I…” she began, “I would like to be alone for a while.”

Yet, for reasons Leia couldn’t comprehend, she didn’t loosen her grasp around Padmé’s hand.

“I’m terribly sorry, Leia, but I won’t leave you alone right now.”

Leia sighed; Padmé’s presence there made everything better, yet so much harder —!

“I promised you I wouldn’t hurt myself,” she argued, reminiscing the conversation they had not so long before. “It still stands.”

“I’m not afraid that you’ll break your promise and hurt yourself,” Padmé said gently, while her voice carried all her worry. “I am afraid, however, of all the dark places your mind will take you to if you’re alone. And I don’t want your thoughts to betray you and hurt your heart and soul.”

“Padmé, _please_.”

“I’m here, Leia,” she reassured, delicately folding both her hands around Leia’s and bringing them close to her heart. “I’m here.”

Admitting defeat while recognizing the bad place she was emotionally in, Leia threw herself into Padmé’s arm without asking for permission — because _she knew_ the words would never make it past her lips. She found her mother’s embrace and she allowed herself to be vulnerable within it, her teardrops wettening Padmé’s shirt as she sobbed without a sound.

Padmé held her and just that, her nose buried in Leia’s hair as her hands traveled up and down her back; little gestures that offered Leia all the comfort she knew how to give. And even if it wouldn’t magically fix everything, it was _enough._

“It’s so _bad_ ,” Leia said once she regained enough of her composure to speak. “I try so hard not to think about it but it’s _always_ there.”

Her words only made Padmé wrap her arms more tightly around her. “Ignoring it won’t make it go away, Leia. It takes time, and patience, and a whole love and support from those that care about you.”

When she didn’t answer, Padmé gently kissed the top of her head, trying her best to show the princess all the love and caring she had to give. She doubted that her sweet gesture of tenderness had been responsible for Leia to pull away, but Leia pulled away nonetheless, taking a share of Padmé’s soul with her.

Her cheeks were wet, her eyes were red, her lips were separated to help her breathe. For the first time, she found the strength to look at Padmé’s eyes, and she could almost breathe easier when she only saw worry and caring there; not pity.

“Padmé,” she said, her throat sore, “No one knows about this.”

Padmé’s eyes widened. “You mean, other than—”

“No one,” Leia told her. “Not Han, not Luke, not _Mon Mothma_ — no one.”

Padmé’s heart ached with the knowledge, and she reached out to place her hand over Leia’s thighs. “That must have been very lonely.”

Leia shivered but didn’t answer.

“Leia, it means so much that you trusted me enough with this,” she spoke earnestly. “It’s still important, though, to tell those that you love. I don’t want to impose or force you, but those are _your_ people. You need people on whom you can rely, and Luke and Han love you _so much._ ”

“I know,” she consented — because she _knew._ “They’re boys. They wouldn’t understand.”

“They wouldn’t, not to the same extent that you do,” Padmé agreed, “However — they would try to, and they would do their best to help you.”

Unexpectedly, Leia threw her back down the mattress, her arms close to her side and her eyes fixated on the ceiling above them. She waited, wondering if Padmé would join her, and all that the mother did was to drag herself a little closer.

“When Luke came to rescue us — Han, Chewie, and I, we had all been taken prisoners after I failed to get Han out of there safely by Jabba’s thugs. And I… I was sitting with Jabba on his throne when Luke came, serving my duty as his _slave,_ his pet, his exposition — whatever he had in his twisted mind. Wearing that goddamn outfit with a chain around my neck. And when Luke came… He didn’t even look at me.”

Her vision became blurry once again at the memory, and she pulled her arms to her chest. Next to her, Padmé became stiff.

“It was like — I wasn’t there, and he couldn’t see me. Or, refused to see me. Even in his speech, it was always _Han and his friends,_ it was never… me. Me, his sister, who was posing as a sex slave right in front of him. I don’t blame Luke, I swear I don’t, but… Sometimes, that’s what gets me the most. How much disregard he had for me at that moment.”

Padmé listened with a heavy heart. “I’m sure that wasn’t his intention, Leia. He was just trying to do his best.”

“It’s how I _feel,_ ” she accused, abruptly raising herself on her elbows to lash out, “Will you _for once_ take my side?!”

Padmé quickly opened her mouth to protest, to say that she _was_ on Leia’s side, when she realized — even if it hadn’t been her intention, she sounded like she wasn’t. So she took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry.”

Mimicking her exhale, Leia lied back down, the tension all but evanescing from her body and her voice calm again, “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s just — there isn’t a single thing about that day that makes it easier, and the way Luke ignored me there doesn’t help. The way he — he acted around me back then only corroborates how he’ll _never_ understand what it was like to be there, almost naked in front of hundreds of prying eyes. He’ll never understand what was like being a princess stripped away from the remnants of her power and her dignity. He… He didn’t even look at my face, Padmé.”

Acting before she could think, Padmé ran her fingers gently through Leia’s loosely pulled back hair. “I think, Leia, that only gives you more reason to talk to him. You won’t be able to move on until you’ve accepted every single thing that happened, and that includes the betrayal you felt by your brother at that moment.”

Leia barely blinked. “I — I don’t want to hurt Luke. He would be heartbroken.”

“So maybe he would. But you don’t owe him your silence, Leia. You have to speak up, so he’ll know how to do better.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not very fond of the idea of ever replaying that scenario, Padmé.”

Chuckling soundlessly, Padmé shook her head in reprimand. “You know what I meant, Leia.”

“Yeah,” she breathed out. “I… I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

She sighed. “That’s all I can promise you today.”

“It’s a step. It’s the _first_ step,” Padmé said, “Don’t belittle yourself just because it’s a small step. It’s a step nonetheless, and that’s what matters.”

Sniffing, Leia nodded, and knowing Padmé to have a perfect view of her face, she turned her face to her side to hide away.

“I wish my mother was still here.”

Her words were a jagger to Padmé’s heart.

“I don’t — I don’t say that to hurt you, or to undermine everything that you went through and every effort you’ve made to be here,” she said nervously, “It’s just — I wish she was still here, to guide me through this. I wish I could have both of you.”

Although she suspected that Leia had said the last bit to mend Padmé, Padmé appreciated it nonetheless. “She was your mother, Leia. You don’t have to apologize or explain yourself for missing her.”

“I miss her so much,” Leia took the liberty to say, and her words hurt. “I… I’m glad I have you, though.”

Padmé smiled, even more when Leia finally turned her face back up, and she could see all the fear for lack of reciprocity in her eyes. “I’m glad to be here.”

Leia nodded a little anxiously, while simultaneously letting all of her tension out with a deep exhale.

“Here’s an idea,” Padmé prompted, “Let’s not go back to the headquarters. Not today, anyway. We’ll spend the night here, breathe in some fresh air. What do you say?”

Intrigued, Leia raised herself on her elbows to properly look at the mother. Naturally, though, her interest came alongside her hesitation. “I have work to do.”

Padmé made a face. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I—”

“—Nothing that you can’t postpone for tomorrow,” Padmé said.

Yet, Leia seemed to spend a little too long thinking. “We don’t have any spare clothes or any personal materials here.”

Padmé shrugged. “I’ll comm Ameera. She’ll bring us what we need.”

“We don’t have _food_.”

“Ameera,” Padmé insisted.

With half a smirk across her lips, Leia incited, “Luke is going to lose his mind that he’s not invited.”

Padmé laughed loudly at that. “Doesn’t that make you more prone to agreeing to it?”

Leia snorted. “It does, actually.”

Padmé smiled with her teeth. “It’s settled, then.”

“Okay.”

After that, for no apparent reason at all, both girls joined in on a burst of laughter — and it was the most honest laughter they had shared in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and with this chapter, we officially begin our journey towards healing, although there are still several loose ends amidst the fic that need addressing, so you'll be stuck with me for a while longer.
> 
> as always, take the time to leave me a comment!


	34. Thirty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> girls night out? GIRLS NIGHT OUT !!!!

Ameera had been expecting a lot of things when she arrived by Padmé’s penthouse — a battlefield in the middle of the apartment; a ten years old dead body decaying in the backroom; two girls bathing in wealth — but none of her expectations prepared for what she came to find. 

She entered the place without announcing herself — Padmé had told her she would leave the door open for her to come in without a fuss — and the only warning of her presence there was the thud of the backpack she dropped to the floor carelessly. Still, as she strode towards the kitchen to place the several bags of groceries over the counter, she had yet to be noticed.

That was when she came across the most absurd scene her brain could ever create. No, scratch that —  _ nothing  _ would ever lead her to willingly conjecturing such an image, and the sight of it alone  _ terrified  _ her.

So, with her eyes wide and bags still hung by her arms, she stopped right behind Padmé, who stood on her back to her and announced herself.

“Are you aware you’ve got a fucking princess cleaning up your kitchen?!”

The sudden voice of the Twi’lek when she had been so distracted was all it took to Padmé physically jump and have her heart start pounding inside of her chest. She looked at Ameera with frightening eyes.

“ _ Sith,  _ Ameera, a little warning next time?!” Padmé lectured her, “I’m  _ old.  _ You’ll give me a heart attack and end up being responsible for my death.”

“You’re not  _ that  _ old,” Ameera scoffed, at last dropping the bags of groceries all over the counter as she turned her head towards Leia, who was ostensibly unaware of her presence there. She repeated, “Why do you have a princess cleaning up for you?”

Padmé shrugged. It had been a long day, it had been an emotionally exhaustive day, and even though she did her best to carry out their day as normal as possible, one time or another she would find Leia blankly staring at a wall while one or two tears ran down her cheeks. Residues of saying  _ those  _ words aloud for the very first time, Padmé knew, and Padmé couldn’t do anything but to give her the space to cry in peace. And when Leia suddenly found herself with cleaning products expired for two decades now, scrubbing every dusty layer in attempts of distracting her mind from the darkness it always took her back to, Padmé simply let her be.

“We’re just biding our time,” Padmé said, “Praying we wouldn’t starve to death before you finally decided to show up.”

“Yeah, speaking of which,” with a face, Ameera gestured towards the groceries. “I have no idea what royal food is. Before today, I didn’t even know if royalty  _ ate _ .”

Padmé rolled her eyes until they disappeared, and she was terrified to ask, “What did you end up buying, ‘Meera?”

“Pretty much all the junk food I came across with,” she replied with a proud smirk, motioning with her hand so Padmé would go see it for herself. “Making up for all the time in the rebellion we spent eating crappy rations.”

Sighing in disbelief, Padmé went on to investigate. Ameera wasn’t lying; she found all sorts of chips, and cookies, and chocolate, and soda, and nachos, and so much more that left Padmé with a headache. Then, she frowned to herself — it had been such an unorthodox day, maybe eating their sorrows away was all that they — especially Leia — needed.

Still, she couldn’t help herself but tease Ameera, “I’m assuming Duaa was the one responsible for shopping for groceries?”

“Obviously,” Ameera grunted, unbothered as she followed ahead to grab a seat. “The maniac over there is suddenly obsessed with cleaning. What are  _ you  _ doing?”

“Well,” Padmé started with a squeal, walking up to the Twi’lek but remaining on her feet. “I’m cleaning after her.”

For several moments, Ameera simply stared at her, waiting for the words to make sense — they didn’t. “You’re  _ what _ .”

“Cleaning after her,” Padmé repeated with a shrug, “You see, perks of growing up in a palace is that you’ll always have someone to do the cleaning for you, you’ll never have to pick up a broom out of your volition. And that… leaves you lacking in certain —  _ areas  _ of expertise.”

Ameera snorted loudly. “So you’re saying she’s cleaning up, and she’s cleaning up so badly that you have to clean up everything that she already did?”

“Something like that.”

“You know, I can  _ hear  _ you.”

The sudden sound of Leia’s voice only perked up Ameera’s laughter, and even Padmé joined her in her chuckle as she followed with a piece of cloth towards the spot that Leia had just been cleaning.

Upon seeing Padmé’s deeds and realizing that that had been exactly what she had been doing for the best two hours, Leia crossed her arms in protest. “You’re the worst mother ever.”

Padmé snorted, leaving her eyes focused on her chore. “I might be. At least I know how to  _ clean,  _ though.”

Shaking her head at her audacity, Leia threw her own cloth at Padmé, who caught it by surprise. “You could have at least  _ told  _ me, so I’d learn from my mistakes and improve.”

Concluding that there would be no more cleaning for the rest of the night, Padmé placed both cloths down. “There’s nothing wrong with being bad at something. You already excel at everything else.”

Ameera watched the scene unfolding with amusement. “I, myself, find it  _ adorable,  _ Tiny Princess. Personally, I can’t wait to tell Luke Skywalker that his prodigal sister fails at the art of sanitation.”

Leia widened her eyes in pure horror. “You’re going to tell him?! You’re supposed to be on  _ my  _ side…!”

“I am,” Ameera certified, “But when you are unsuccessful at the most basic human chore while leading an entire rebellion through war… Well, that leaves me too much ground to mock you with.”

Padmé turned to Leia with a face, “You see what I have to deal with every day?!”

Snorting, Leia good-heartedly rolled her eyes.

“Did you bring my stuff?” Leia asked Ameera. “I’m desperately in need of a shower.”

“Why, did all this sick excuse of cleaning leave you sweating?” Ameera teased, not understanding why Padmé's face started to twitch all of sudden. She frowned but didn’t comment on it. “Yeah. They’re by the entrance.”

Either failing to notice their reactions or choosing to ignore them, Leia bowed and walked out of the kitchen.

“What was that all about?”

“Hush,” Padmé denounced, going out after the daughter and leaving Ameera no other choice but to follow if she didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t.

They found her with a giant backpack spread over the couch. “Gods, Ameera, did you tell Han that I’m spending only  _ one  _ night away? There’s enough stuff here to last me a month.”

Making herself at home, Ameera threw herself down at the couch, which led a cloud of dust to go up in the air after the thud of her body. “Of course I did, but your boyfriend is  _ miserable.  _ I think I must have waited an hour or so as he ran from side to side in that stupid ship of his making sure he had packed every little thing that you might need.”

Leia smiled, looking down at the contents of the bag; three bottles of shampoo, hair conditioner, her favorite hairbrush, at least three sets of dresses for different occasions, the japor snippet that Padmé had given her, an old shirt of his. He had obviously gone out of his way to make sure she would have a good night, and it didn’t surprise her in the slightest.

“Did he bring you here?”

“You know, I  _ was  _ going to ask, but I was afraid he would take it as an invitation to park up outside the apartment and guard the place all night long,” Ameera said, “Turns out going to Luke wasn’t that good an idea either since he all but cried when I told him we were having a girls party and he wasn’t invited, but at least he’s easy to threaten.”

Leia laughed; that sounded exactly like her brother. 

“Like, tears were streaming down his face as he dropped me off and I told him to scram away,” Ameera exaggerated, “I don’t think he ever regretted being born a boy as much as at that moment.”

“You, of course, didn’t help and were being unnecessarily mean to him,” Padmé inferred, her hands on her hips in a figure of authority. 

If only her authority meant  _ anything  _ to Ameera. “I merely told him to stop whining before I cut off the very part of him that forbade him from attending our girls' party.”

Padmé’s eyes widened in horror; Leia’s laughter intensified both at her reaction and at Ameera’s innuendo. 

“Suits him right,” Leia gently commented as she picked up the bag from the couch. “Padmé, may I use the same fresher as before?”

Padmé nodded, gesturing so Leia would lead away — because even if her presence wasn’t required, she followed the daughter to make sure she found everything she needed. She wondered, deep down, whether Leia had found a certain connection in the Force to the room she unconsciously chose, the room that had once belonged to Padmé and Anakin when there had been several rooms for her to choose from.

“Do you need anything?” Padmé asked as Leia dropped her bag over the bed.

“Not anything that your two decades abandoned house might have to offer,” she joked, but soon after offered Padmé a sweet smile. “I’m fine, thank you. Han’s got me covered.”

Padmé nodded, her hand pressed to the door, ready to close it and give Leia some privacy. “Well, if you do need anything, just shout or whatever.”

Her smile softened and she nodded. “I will.”

Padmé lingered there for a while longer, watching as the princess started to unpack a few things, just waiting for Leia to ask her for  _ anything  _ — she absolutely despised the feelings of impotence, all she needed was something tangible to do. 

“Padmé,” Leia called, aware of her presence there even if her gaze remained down. “I know you tell Ameera everything—”

Padmé took a step inside. “There’s quite a difference between telling my friend about my frustrations and about a story that does not belong to me,” she said. “I won’t tell her, Leia. You can trust me.”

With waves of anxiety creeping over her, Leia nodded vigorously.

“What I’m saying is…” she tried, her words struggling to leave her vocal cords, “You can tell her, if you want to. I understand that this is as hard to hear as it is to talk about, so… if you need to vent or lash out or anything… you can tell her. Because  _ I  _ can’t bear to hold your grievance as well, when mine is already too much to deal with. And… Ameera’s a girl. She’s gone through something similar when she herself was enslaved and… She’ll understand.”

Padmé crossed her arms uncomfortably, trying to make sense of Leia’s true sentiments behind her words.

“Wouldn’t you like to tell her yourself?”

Her hands lost grip of the towel they were holding and it fell to the bed.

“No…” with a deep breath, she raised her head to look at Padmé with pleading eyes. “Please don’t make me go through that twice in a day. Telling you was already exhaustive enough.”

“Leia, I—” Padmé started and immediately came to a halt before she sounded too defensive. She sighed to calm her composure. “I will encourage and I will support you and I will hold your hand whenever you decide to tell someone about this. However, I will never force you to. As I said, this is  _ your  _ story. Only you get to decide who you want to learn about it.”

Appreciative of the answer, Leia returned her eyes to the bed, and when she started to fumble with the same tower as before, Padmé understood she was no longer welcomed there.

When nothing but silence prevailed, Padmé stepped out and closed the door with a tight heart, walking back to where she had left Ameera with a hand pressed against her temples as she felt the promise of a headache lingering in. 

Ameera, very much to her essence, was inelegantly lying down on a couch too small to fit her, in a way that left her legs loosely hanging over its arm. She was clearly at home by now, and not even the possibility of Padmé reprimanding her as she walked back into the living room made her shift her position.

But when Padmé dropped herself to the couch opposite from her without any class or grace, her eyes lost, Ameera frowned and raised her body in the slightest.

“What is that all about?”

“Hm?” it took her a while to connect Ameera’s words to their meanings, “What?”

“You,” Ameera pointed accusingly, “Your body language — is all wrong. Ever since I arrived here.” 

Padmé exaggeratedly exhaled, trying to force herself to relax. “It’s been a long day.”

“Has it?” her frown remained, “Because your rapport with Leia seems to be as good as it has  _ never  _ been. I don’t understand while you’re suddenly all hesitant to even  _ breathe  _ next to her.”

“It’s—” Padmé choked on her words, “Complicated.”

“Yeah,” Ameera replied sardonically, moving to a sitting position. “Welcome to life.”

Padmé anchored her back against the soft old cushions. “It’s just — as of the last few days, Leia and I are reaching a point in our relationship where she’s comfortable enough to slowly reveal to me the things that happened to her during the war,” she took an uncomfortable pause, “It’s not… Pleasant, to hear about it. It makes me sick to my stomach, and I get stuck with this nerving sensation that I couldn’t protect her, I… I’m her mother, I brought her to life, and I couldn’t protect her from life.”

Ameera listened, understanding Padmé needed more to get it all out of her chest than to have unuseful advice thrown back at her. 

“She… She gave me her blessing to tell you the things that she underwent, if I needed someone to talk to,” she said nervously, “But I… I don’t think I can, or want to. Those are her pains and I don’t get to be the one who needs support, I need to be the strong one, to hold it together, for  _ her.  _ The only thing that I  _ want  _ is to rewrite the past, and that’s the one thing I can’t do.”

“Padmé,” Ameera spoke gravely, and Padmé doubted she had ever seen her so seriously. “I’m not ignorant to what happens to girls who are enslaved by Jabba the Hutt.”

“Oh,” Padmé’s eyes sparkled with water.

“Jabba had a — a fetish, if you get to call it that, for Twi’lek girls. More often than not he would send his henchmen to Ryloth to find his next servant. His next  _ slave _ ,” Ameera said crudely, “The hardest thing about growing up as a Twi’lek under the Empire is that you never knew when someone was lurking in the shadows, ready to capture you and sell you as a slave to the highest bidder. I have always been fortunate to hold tight to my freedom — even if it was momentarily stolen by Grand Moff Tolruck — and even then I was lucky enough not to have been made a sex slave like so many of my kind. It pains me deeply that Leia had to go through those horrors herself.”

“Yeah,” Padmé conceded, her voice weak. “I just wish there was something I could do. I feel so… useless.”

“Padmé, the first thing you need to understand is that there is virtually  _ nothing  _ you can do, or could have done,” Ameera said, “You can, and you  _ will  _ be there for her. Trust me when I say that means more to her than any action you might want to take. I’ve been there.”

Padmé pulled her legs up the couch. “You refused to accept help from anyone while you were healing from your captivity.”

“Yes, out of my own volition,” she argued, “Now, looking back, I realize things might have been a lot easier to bear if I had just let anyone in. Leia is just realizing that for herself, and you have to give her the space to understand these things for herself while also refusing to leave her alone. When you met me, you crawled up to me like a plague, and even if I might whine about it to you all the time, it was the best thing that could have happened to me. You… You practically saved me, Padmé, you taught me how to love myself and appreciate myself once more, when I had been so lost within me. Now, you have to do the same for her. Show her you won’t give up on her, and it’ll help give her the strength not to give up on herself.”

Padmé smiled faintly, taking the words to her heart. “I’m happy you’re in my life as well, Ameera.”

Ameera scoffed. “Of course you are. I’m a bliss of a person to be around.”

She tilted her head. “One might argue with you there.”

“You’re not  _ one,  _ are you?”

“No, but you make it very easy for me to  _ become _ ,” Padmé teased, chuckling when Ameera gave her the tongue like a spoiled child. “I hope you’ll never forget that even though I’m so often caught up in my personal dramas, you will always be  _ family.  _ And not just to me,” her head wandered towards the hall that led to the bedroom where Leia was settled, “They’re your family too.”

Her lips became a thin line, and she sniffed as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. “I know.”

“Good,” Padmé nodded, although her gaze remained lost in the scenery. “You’re not alone. You’ve got us now. Don’t ever think we would turn our back on you if you came at us for help, so don’t be afraid to reach out in your times of need.”

“I know.”

Padmé looked at her again, smiling tenderly at the sight of how vulnerable amidst her feelings Ameera appeared to be. Getting up, she walked up to her and gave her shoulder a tight squeeze, feeling her shiver underneath the touch and letting her hand linger there until Ameera accepted it.

Once she did, even if Padmé came to physically break their bond, the powerful meaning of her message would always be there.

“Did you bring  _ my  _ stuff?” Padmé asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah,” Ameera ran a hand against the corner of her eye to fully regain her composure and step back to her usual persona. She pointed towards a small corner table, “It’s right there.”

Padmé, squinting, followed the direction of her finger, and when she found it, she accused, “You mean that small paper bag, barely big enough to have a  _ hairbrush  _ there?”

“Hey, you never  _ specified _ ,” Ameera argued, finally standing, “You just told me to  _ grab your stuff _ ,”

Padmé went through the contents of the bag skeptically; there was a pajama, clean underwear, and toothpaste, all cramped up together in a wrinkled mess. She sighed, “Would it have killed you to channel your inner  _ Han Solo _ ?” 

“It would have,” Ameera snapped, offended. 

Rolling her eyes, Padmé left the bag on the table and followed back to the kitchen, determined to fix them all something to eat with the sick excuse of a meal that Ameera had brought them. She found bowls and cutlery exactly where they used to be and dropped them all to the sink. 

“Do  _ you  _ know how to clean?”

Ameera scoffed, “Of course. I’m not royalty.”

“Then get to work.”

She did, doing the dishes with some very questionable two-decades-old soap. Padmé herself found some other chore to do, and they entertained themselves with small talk while waiting for Leia to show up.

When a long time passed and she hadn’t returned, Padmé allowed herself to worry.

“Maybe I should go check on her.”

Ameera gave her a sideways glare, “I said not to leave her alone, not to  _ suffocate  _ her.”

Nodding, Padmé made up her mind. “I will go check on her.”

Rolling her eyes, Ameera let her go and Padmé soon found herself outside of Leia’s bedroom. She listened for the shower, and upon realizing it was off, she took the liberty to knock on the door. Softly, not meaning to startle, and only when an answer didn’t come that she dared to knock a little more lively.

When only silence once again prevailed, Padmé’s conceptual worry became tangible. She called Leia’s name, to no avail, before going against her better judgment and turning the knob over to enter.

Padmé immediately felt bad when she found Leia sound asleep, curled up in a fetal position in the middle of the bed, the lights still on and everything. She wore some dark sweatpants and a man’s shirt — obviously belonging to Han — and the japor snippet hung from her neck. Dreading to disturb the daughter even further, she quietly followed towards the wardrobe to fetch for a blanket, and after smelling it for mold, she judged it safe enough to lay it over Leia.

What she hadn’t expected, though, was Leia’s immediately opening in alarm at the simple touch.

“I’m awake.”

“No, you’re not,” Padmé said, placing her hand over Leia’s shoulder so she would lie back down and relax her body. “Go back to sleep.”

“But— It’s our girls night in—”

Padmé tilted her head, unaware until now of how much Leia was looking forward to  _ their  _ night, where she would be free of her responsibilities as a Princess and high ranking member of the rebellion and just allow herself to  _ be. _

“We can have a girls day in, it’s okay,” she reassured, “You’re tired, let your body and mind rest.”

“But—”

“You will go to sleep now,” Padmé ordered, very much like a Jedi trying to play a trick on the weak-minded. Leia snorted at her attempt.

“I will go to sleep now,” Leia conceded and closed her eyes again, pulling the spare pillow close to her. Padmé bent down and tenderly kissed the top of her head, then turned on the lamp on the nightstand so Leia wouldn’t wake up disoriented if she were left in the dark. She walked and pulled the door, but not closing it before stealing a last glance of hers.

* * *

The privacy of sleeping on her own was a luxury that Ameera hadn’t known for a long time — and now, upon the chance of having a room all for herself to spend the night on Padmé’s insanely big penthouse, she found herself wide awake, unable to fall asleep within her solitude. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept on her own. Duaa had always been there next to her, with her annoying snoring and her early morning habits. Then, after her death, she had found solace in sleeping at the women’s lounge in whatever rebel station she was stationed at — and while she would gladly  _ kill  _ all of them for just a moment of silence, she found that the noise kept the bad thoughts away. As of lately, Padmé had come along and offered her the chance to share a bunk with her, where silence and peace reigned — well, when Padmé wasn’t going through one of her family crises — while she still had the presence of another living body next to her.

Lying down on a kingsize bed all on her own, with only the lights from the Coruscanti civilization to illuminate the room, Ameera found herself restless, having turned and tossed over the most comfortable mattress she had  _ ever  _ laid on, unable to sleep. Every time she allowed her mind to stray, it took her to unrealistic scenarios that brought tingles of anticipation down her spine.

When she finally had enough of her uneasiness, she threw the blankets far away from her body and stood up, determined to go to the kitchen and find herself something to eat while watching a holoshow or reading a novel or just anything that she could find laying around Padmé’s place to pass the time until the morning came and she could get her day up and running.

She didn’t expect, however, to have the startle of her life as she stumbled distractedly into the living room and found the silhouette of somebody sitting on the floor, in the complete dark, and staring at the opposite wall without moving. Ameera couldn’t help herself as her heart nearly jumped out of her chest and she loudly cussed.

“ _ Sith _ —”

The penthouse had been so silent in the dead of the night that the sudden sound of Ameera’s swearing was all it took to give Leia a heart attack as she defensively turned around to find the source of the noise, ready to take down whatever threat was creeping behind her with her bare hands, if it came to it. Only when she noticed it was only Ameera that she allowed herself to breathe again.

“Is that how you announce yourself to traumatized people?”

She had been teasing, Ameera could hear it in her tone, just like she could hear the edginess that the startle had left her.

“Sorry,” Ameera said earnestly, taking cautious steps towards where Leia was settled. “In my defense, I am  _ also  _ a traumatized person and I am not emotionally prepared to find people lurking in the darkness.”

Leia chuckled lightly, allowing herself the peace to anchor her head back against the foot of the couch. “I’m sorry, too.”

Shrugging her apologies away, Ameera sat next to her, leaning back on the sideways couch. “What are you even doing here? Staring at nowhere at all?”

“I was,” Leia started, then frowned to herself; she couldn’t remember what she was doing before the scare, her mind was a haze of thoughts. “Staring at the fireplace.”

Ameera grimaced, leading her eyes towards the fireplace in question. “It’s — It’s not even burning.”

“I can see the flames with my mind.”

“And you don’t think that’s weird?”

Leia snorted. “What are you doing up? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Well, I could ask you the same question,” Ameera prompted.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Nodding, Ameera stretched out her long legs. “Me either.”

Of course, the party wouldn’t be complete without three, and Padmé soon emerged from her bedroom at the sound of all the commotion. This time, at least, both girls were aware of her approaching.

Placing her hands on her hips, Padmé looked down at them cluelessly, “Why are you sitting in the middle of the dark?”

“What are you talking about, Padmé,” Ameera innocently asked, “The fireplace is burning.”

Padmé looked at her friend with dead eyes, failing to notice Leia placing her hand over her lips to hide her sneer. “ _ What _ .”

Ameera feigned her worry. “You mean you can’t see the flames of the fireplace? Oh no, we  _ must  _ take you to see a medic!”

Padmé threw both her hands in the air, “You know what, forget I asked.”

Ameera laughed loudly at her defeat, while Leia did it discreetly.

“Is there a way to light this thing up?”

“It’s a gas fireplace,” Padmé commented, “You just have to press a button.”

So, she kneeled in front of it, and moments later the light of fire had taken over the place. She smiled to herself, turning around to properly face the two women. Ameera wore a tank top and leggings, while Leia still had the outfit of before, the pendant loosely hanging down her neck and a blanket wrapped around her legs. There was no ceremony; it was just — them, in their most intimate essence.

“Did we wake you up?” Leia asked.

“I wasn’t asleep,” Padmé commented. “I heard someone  _ loudly  _ cussing in the middle of the night and came to check it out,” she offered Ameera a dirty look.

In return, Ameera silently pointed at Leia.

“The cussing wasn’t coming from  _ her _ .”

“It was all her doing, either way,” Ameera shuddered. “Why weren’t you sleeping?”

Padmé sat down comfortably on the spare couch, opposite from Ameera, knowing her back would never forgive her if she decided to sit down on the floor with them. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Hm,” Ameera huffed, “Join the club.”

Padmé eyed them mystified; the last time she had seen Leia, she had been so tired that she fell asleep moments after laying her head down the pillow, and Ameera had always been a fast sleeper. What had suddenly spiked all the insomnia around the house —?

“Why can’t the two of you?”

She asked and nobody answered. Ameera visually pretended she didn’t care, as it didn’t bother her, while Leia looked down to her lap and started toying with the blanket over her legs. Silence became heavy.

“I can’t sleep when I’m worried,” Padmé confessed, revealing something she had never told anyone before. “I just — can’t. When there’s too much on my mind, I simply can’t turn it off. It’s been like this ever since I became Queen of Naboo; now, I don’t even bother myself trying to get some sleep when I’m having nights like that. I’d just rather do something useful with my time, than to lay back down and allow my every worry to solidify.”

They listened, and Ameera was the one to ask, “What were you doing? To pass the time?”

In response, Padmé vigorously shook her head. “I’m not saying. You’ll make fun of me.”

If only that hadn’t been the only thing to spike Leia’s interest — and confidence? — enough to look back up.

“Oh no,” Ameera denounced, “Now you  _ have  _ to tell us.”

“I do not—”

“Yes, you do,” she insisted, “These are the rules. Leia, tell her.”

Leia’s eyes widened, “I have no idea what the rules are—”

“Leia,  _ tell  _ her.”

Throwing her hands up, she conceded, “Well, Padmé, I guess  _ those  _ are the rules.”

Clasping her hands together a little self-consciously, Padmé admitted in a low voice, “I was…  _ knitting _ .”

“You were knitting?!” Ameera did her the favor of speaking it loud enough so the entire neighborhood would hear. Then, she laughed, “That’s just adorable.”

Meanwhile, Leia was looking at her with curiosity. “You knit?”

Smiling, she agreed. “I don’t know how many onesies I must have knit you and your brother. I know pregnancies are supposed to be peaceful, but it was very hard not to worry when you were watching a Republic crumble down.”

Leia nodded, before returning her eyes to her lap once more. She didn’t need to ask what was the sudden reason behind Padmé’s concern.

They allowed silence to linger for a while. Padmé had never intended for her personal anecdote to coerce the other girls into talking; she only wanted them to understand that that was a safe environment to be vulnerable.

And Ameera did.

“I don’t know how to sleep alone anymore,” she admitted in a whisper. “I didn’t know about this, not until today when Padmé gave me a whole room for myself. It is — very quiet, and quietude makes way for loud thoughts. Ever since my sister died, I’ve been seeking loneliness as a new mantra. Turns out, ironically enough, I’m terrified of solitude.”

They listened, and there was no judgment there.

“Why didn’t you come find me,” Padmé asked softly, “Even if you didn’t know I wasn’t asleep, I—”

“Because it’s  _ pathetic,  _ Padmé,” Ameera snapped, her animosity directed at anyone but herself. “I’m a grown woman. I’m a 27 years old who’s incapable of sleeping on her own? It’s so — childish.”

“It’s not pathetic,” Leia breathed out quietly, still looking down. “Nor childish. Little things, like the sound of somebody sleeping next to you, are so comforting. There’s no shame in that. If that’s how you cope, then embrace it. Don’t allow yourself to belittle what makes you feel better.”

Ameera looked at her intently, as did Padmé, even if Leia still refused to look at either of them. “Is that what you do?”

Leia shrugged, pulling her legs close to her chest.

“I’ve had constant nightmares, ever since I was held prisoner in the first Death Star. About Vader, about Alderaan, about—” she breathed out heavily, “About my treatment there. I’ve grown accustomed to the nightmares, no matter how bad they are. I can handle them, I think. What I couldn’t deal with, however, for a long time, was the idea of anyone being with me while I slept, because sleeping exclusively means I will wake up out of breath, or sweating in panic, or, in the worst days,  _ screaming.  _ I don’t enjoy people pitying me, or looking at me when I’m vulnerable, and  _ that’s  _ how they’ll react when they find you like that.”

She took a brief pause, taking a deep breath. “Or, that’s what I used to think. It must have happened once or twice, when I was away in missions, and those occasions were all it took for me to adopt unhealthy mechanisms of just staying awake when I was in the company of others. Then, the Empire tracks us down in Hoth, and we have to flee in a hurry, leaving me stranded, with Han, on the Millennium Falcon for forty days straight, because the hyperdrive was broken and we couldn’t travel at lightspeed. This was back before Han and I had even confessed our feelings for one another, we had barely had our first kiss and… Even though we had known each other for three years, we were still raw to one another. The idea that I would have to  _ sleep  _ in the same cramped ship as him, when I wanted him to  _ like  _ me, made me panic. So I thought to myself, if I just went as much as I could without getting any sleep, I would eventually become so tired that I would enter a dreamless sleep, and I would survive the journey without having him see what it was truly like to be me. And when I finally gave in to the exhaustion, I had been so stressed and scared that it led to me having such a bad nightmare, enough to leave my lungs husky from my screaming. I was just so embarrassed to come back to my senses and find  _ him  _ there, holding my hand, brushing my hair, happy enough to simply be there until I was alright again. I wanted to run away and hide from him forever, both impossible to do in our situation. But Han… Slowly, Han helped me see for myself that there was nothing wrong with being vulnerable, and there was nothing wrong with having someone to help me through it,” she choked a laugh, “Mostly, he was just mad when he learned of what I had been trying to do to keep the nightmares astray; mad at how badly I was taking care of myself for  _ his  _ sake. That was when I realized, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with that man. Ever since he showed me the beauty of being vulnerable, and having someone you love be vulnerable  _ with  _ you, I have found peace in sleeping next to him, and having him take care of me when I wake up out of breath. I don’t know what it’s like not to have him there anymore, and I don’t ever want to relearn the crudeness of solitude.”

They listened, and Leia felt like she could touch the tension in the air with her fingertips.

“I’m sorry. I seem to have talked a lot.”

“Don’t apologize,” Padmé quickly inferred. “It makes me happy, Leia, that you have found someone with whom you can be comfortable. Love, no matter how strong, is meaningless if you don’t know how to show vulnerability.”

Leia shivered and said nothing more.

“Is that what happened?” Ameera abruptly asked, “Why you can’t sleep tonight?”

“If you’re asking if I’ve had a nightmare, yes,” she said, then forced a smile towards Ameera’s direction. "It's fine. I’m used to it.”

Padmé smiled sadly; those statements shouldn’t coexist. Leia being used to it didn’t necessarily mean that she was  _ fine.  _ However, she also understood that Leia wasn’t one to easily talk about her feelings, and she had already shared so much over the past day. Out of respect, Padmé let it go.

“Well,” she slammed her hands to her thighs, “I think this night calls for a well-deserved bottle of wine.”

Leia perked up her brows, interested. Ameera, however, looked at her suspiciously, “I didn’t bring wine.”

“Lucky for us, wine is about the one thing in this house that hasn't  _ expired _ ,” Padmé smirked, and was soon after on her feet, following to the cellar.

Unconvinced, Ameera gazed at Leia. “Is she trying to poison us?”

Leia laughed. “No, I think we’re safe.”

Scoffing, Ameera was obliged to go after Padmé, leaving Leia behind.

The Twi’lek found her on her tiptoes in a small room by the back of the kitchen, going through a cabinet while two or three bottles of wine had already been set over a small counter there.

“Do you need help?”

Padmé smiled in appreciation, handing her the bottle she had just picked up. “I am just going through the storage, looking for the most suitable wine for the evening.”

Placing the new bottle next to the other ones, Ameera eyed them skeptically. “Is there a difference?”

Padmé glared at her sideways. “ _ Of course  _ there is.”

Ameera shot her shoulders up and down. “They all look the same to me.”

“You haven’t even  _ tried  _ them yet,” Padmé complained, picking up yet another bottle to choose from.

“Nor do I intend to,” she replied. “I hate wine.”

Padmé lowered herself from her tiptoes just to snap, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope,” Ameera crossed her arms, “Wine is  _ disgusting.  _ It tastes like someone’s rotten piss.”

Padmé stared down at her with commotion. “That’s because you haven’t tried the  _ right  _ wine yet.”

“Bullshit,” she said, “All wine tastes the same. I’d much rather drink some decaying beer you have on your fridge than to have a glass of wine.”

Rolling her eyes, Padmé caved in, “Suit yourself,” and went back to her chore of finding the perfect wine for her  _ and  _ Leia to enjoy.

Distractedly, Ameera picked up bottle after bottle, reading their labels and trying to smell them through the closure. Every now and then, Padmé would hand her another bottle, to which Ameera would roll her eyes. Padmé just  _ had _ to be showing up her collection; there was  _ no way  _ anyone could actually believe there was so much different in this tasteless beverage—

“Oh my…”

Ameera turned her head towards Padmé upon the sudden change of her tone, and she found her holding another bottle with tight hands, like her life depended on it. Her body suddenly became tense and oxygen seemed to have been stolen from the tiny room.

“Padmé?” Ameera frowned, “What is it?”

“It’s…” Padmé struggled to say, her eyes barely blinking as she stared at the bottle. “This wine. It’s from Alderaan.”

Ameera’s face fell. Padmé gazed at her with a blank expression.

“This might be one of the few bottles of Toniray left in the galaxy.”

“Well,” Ameera swallowed uncomfortably, “How do you want to proceed?”

“I — I don’t know,” she confessed. “Does she want to have this? Or would this only come as a reminder of everything she’s lost?”

“You’ve been in a situation similar to hers,” Ameera argued, “What would you do?”

She returned her eyes to the Alderaanian wine. “I… I would like to have it. One last link to my past.”

“There you go, then.”

Nodding, Padmé cleared her throat and shouted Leia’s name.

Leia turned her head towards the sound of her name, being so adrift in her thoughts that she assumed her mind was playing tricks on her. She waited for them to call her again, or to have either of them coming back to the living room, and when neither happened, she forced herself to stand and go after them.

When she found them, she noticed that their expressions were amiss. Grimacing, she asked, “What’s going on?”

Unable to say the words aloud, Padmé simply handed her the bottle.

Frowning, she accepted it into her hands. She read the words on the label, and she read them again to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her, and only then she felt the weight of the words over her.

“I…”

She tried to speak when the right words didn’t exist.

“Your father gave it to me,” Padmé said, unsure if that would only do more harm. “I don’t remember the exact context, but… He told me we would share a glass of it once we had finally won the Clone Wars. And once I was no longer pregnant, he made sure to make that clear.”

Her attempt at humor passed straight by Leia, who was holding the bottle with unsteady hands. Padmé knew she wouldn’t let it fall, though. Not when she was holding Alderaan in the palm of her hands.

“I… I never thought I would see something from home again,” Leia said with a tight heart, tears fresh in her eyes.

“It’s yours,” Padmé said, gently placing her hand on Leia’s arm. She knew just how much  _ a little thing  _ such as a bottle of wine meant to her daughter. “Share it with someone you love. With someone you wish you could show your home.”

She was thinking of Han when she mentioned it, based on their conversation of how Leia wanted to know what her  _ home  _ would think of the unconventional man she had chosen for herself. Hence why Leia’s next words surprised her so much.

“Would you?” Leia shyly asked, unable to look at either of them in the eyes. “Share it with me?”

Padmé smiled sadly at her, “You’re not under any obligation to share it with us. There’s plenty of wine to choose from.”

“I know,” she replied apprehensively. “But you’re giving me a gift, you’re giving me an  _ heirloom  _ of my home when there are no heirlooms left, and… You’re my friends, and I would like to share a taste of the home that means so much to me with you.”

Padmé gently squeezed her arm. “It would be an honor, Leia.”

Leia slightly gazed at Ameera, expectantly, and only after Padmé kicked Ameera in the foot that Ameera said, “I’d love to, Tiny Princess.”

They soon found themselves back in front of the fireplace, in the same exact position of before, several bowls of junk food thrown around them, each one with a glass of Alderaanian wine in their hands. It took Leia forever to bring herself to taste it, as she stared at it for a whole eternity, like she feared it would disappear —  _ ready  _ to have it disappear before she was reminded of the taste of Alderaan it would bring her.

When she finally did, she closed her eyes, blackening all her other senses to focus solely on its taste. She was glad she had because sipping it was all it took for the tears to resurge back in her eyes.

“It… It tastes just like home,” she said, emotionally, holding her thin glass close to her lips. Her mind being flooded with old memories. “I never thought I would have the chance to experience this sensation again.”

Feeling sad for Leia, Padmé said nothing, instead taking her first sip of the wine. Ameera did the same, only to make a face of disgust at its taste — which Padmé reprimanded with a glare, content that Leia hadn’t seen it. 

“Thank you, Padmé,” Leia said for the millionth time; there was just no proper way to show how grateful she was for such a  _ little thing.  _ “You don’t understand how much this means to me.”

By then, Padmé had simply given up dismissing her gratification. 

“I do,” she commented gently, “It’s a stupid comparison, but… That’s how I felt when I learned you and Luke were alive, and I found my way back to you.”

Self consciously, Leia lowered the glass to her lap. “I’m sorry, I… I was so cruel to you regarding it. I should have tried to understand you  _ better _ .”

“You were never under any obligation to accept me,” Padmé sighed, pulling her legs up the couch.

“That didn’t give me the right to act like an asshole,” Leia accused herself. “I was raised better than that. My parents never deployed physical punishment as a means of correcting my behavior, but I don’t doubt that my mother wouldn’t slap me in the face if she saw the way I treated the woman who gave  _ birth  _ to me.”

At that, Padmé laughed. She raised her glass, “To your mother.”

Leia joined her chuckle. “To found families.”

Dreading to be left out, Ameera hopped in, “To environments free of testosterone.”

Their laughter intensified, and they toasted to it. Ameera, hoping to get rid of her torment in one go, drank the remaining of her wine in one sip; Padmé rolled her eyes at her as she placed her glass down in victory.

Padmé would only laugh at her if the wine got to her head too fast.

“Hey, Ameera?”

Ameera traced her eyes towards Padmé, her head in the clouds.

“What are you going to do once the New Republic is fully established and there’s no need for a rebellion anymore?”

They couldn’t tell whether Ameera’s overthinking came from the wine or the pondering of what would come next.

“Well…” she started, “Live on the streets. Hope I don’t starve.”

Padmé scoffed. 

“Would you like to move in with me?” she asked, “It’s too big a house just for myself.”

Pouting, Ameera took her time to weigh the possibilities —  _ even  _ if the other side of the coin had her living on the undergrounds of Coruscant.

“Will I have to pay rent?”

“No, but you’ll have to clean up after yourself.”

“That doesn’t sound too hard.”

“No?!” Padmé instigated, “You’re incapable of tidying up  _ your  _ side of the minuscule room we share.”

“ _ She’s  _ the one who doesn’t know how to clean,” Ameera accused Leia with a censuring finger. “I just — delegate my chores to when I’m actually in the mood to do them.”

Padmé gave her a look, “You mean, you delegate your chores so  _ I  _ will do your dirty work.”

Ameera threw her hands in the air in defense. “Hey, I never once asked you to clean my mess. It just happens that every time I come back to your room you’ve already tidied it up to your taste.”

“If you insist, ‘Meera, from now on I’ll just leave it for you to clean up.”

“Okay, Padmé. We’ll just see how capable  _ you  _ are of doing that.”

Padmé puffed, taking in her dare gladly.

And the two of them entered a staring match, until Leia finally raised her voice to say, “I do know how to clean, by the way.”

And their stares turned to her, belittling her.

Leia’s cheeks turned red; she hid her face behind the glass of wine.

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure,” Ameera conceded, “Do you know how to  _ cook _ ?”

“Yes, I’m an excellent cook,” Leia affirmed.

Ameera offered her dirty eyes. “For  _ some  _ reason, I don’t believe you.”

“ _ Fine,  _ whatever,” Leia snapped, having Padmé laugh at how easily she caved in. “I’ll have you know that there’s  _ no need  _ for stressing yourself with stuff of the sort when you have a naked hot man cooking delicious meals for you.”

Her statement was so bold that it made Ameera change her tone, “Your Highness —!”

Leia blushing once more at the intrigue behind Ameera’s voice only made it funnier.

“I hope your hot naked man and his cooking aren’t mutually exclusive,” Ameera commented, unable to let it go. “I’d  _ hate  _ to see an accident happen.”

“Ameera, be nice,” Padmé scolded, although there was the hint of a smirk in the corner of her lips that she couldn’t get rid of. 

“You blush when you talk about sex, Tiny Princess,” Ameera carried on, “It’s adorable.”

To corroborate Ameera’s point, Leia became redder. Ameera loudly laughed at her, then lied on her back against the hard floor, her infinitely long body spread all over the place, and she used her arm as a pillow.

“My first time was catastrophic,” Ameera commented, chuckling to herself. “There was a fireplace involved. It did not go well.”

Padmé looked down on her, “What did you  _ do,  _ Ameera?!”

“Well, I did what I was supposed to…!” she defended herself, “Or, well, what I thought I was supposed to do. I guarantee you that  _ neither  _ of us knew what we were doing, we were just… exploring, you know? Learning.”

“How old were you?” Leia asked.

“Fifteen.”

“That’s young,” Leia commented, although she bore no judgment.

“Yeah,” Ameera shrugged, “You happen to grow up a lot faster when you don’t have parents, though.”

Silently, she nodded; she understood the sentiment all too well. She had been all but a naïve child when she left Alderaan for the last time on her mission to find Obi-Wan Kenobi, and her youth had been stolen from her the moment she was brought to the Death Star and genocide weighed on her shoulders. 

“Anyway,” Ameera continued, “I had snuck out of home to meet with her. She was a wealthy human, about my age, and her parents were off-world, so she invited me over when we were already having — a thing. We cared for each other, a lot. Alas, we were also horny teenagers who couldn’t  _ wait  _ to make it to her bedroom and just had to do it on the floor of the living room, right in front of the fireplace.”

“Why do I feel that will not end up well,” Padmé noted.

Ameera ignored her. “I went down on her first. Took my time, making sure she saw the stars and everything beyond, you know? I wanted to show her I  _ knew  _ what I was doing, even if I didn’t. I probably sucked at it, but I was having fun, and, well, she got to where she was supposed to so at least I know I did something  _ right _ . Then — my turn.”

Her brief pause was all it took for Padmé to hold her breath, “I am genuinely scared for what’s going to happen.”

Clumsily, Ameera hit her foot against the couch where Padmé was lodged to shut her up. “I laid back down and she started to work on me. And, mind you,  _ neither  _ of us were experienced, but she — she was something else. I don’t know for how long I just lied there, but I was bored  _ the hell  _ out of my mind. She just couldn’t do it! So, I sighed, and she noticed my discomfort and raised herself, leaning her body far back to stretch her muscles. Now, one part that I should really point out is  _ the amount  _ of hair she had. Like, down to her waist length. And of course, as the stupid teenagers that we were, we didn’t think to tie it up as she went down on me, and… well. When she stretched back, well, her hair was all loose and all over the place and… It got caught in the fireplace.”

Leia raised her hands to her in pure horror, while Padmé had her jaw fallen over in mock amusement.

“ _ She didn’t _ .”

“Oh, she did,” Ameera snorted, “She didn’t even  _ realize  _ it, not until I asked why it suddenly smelt like something was burning. Then, all hell broke loose. She started screaming and running and saying, ‘help, help, help’, it was peak comedy.”

“Not for  _ her _ ,” Padmé pointed out.

“Well,  _ duh.  _ And not for me at that moment either. I could only sit there, unable to do anything but to watch as she ran from side to side,  _ naked,  _ with her hair on fire. Until she had the brilliant idea of opening the sink on it, and it all calmed down. Well,  _ ish.  _ As she walked back to me, her once  _ beautiful  _ hair all torn to ruin, she was  _ clearly  _ panicking, and… Well, I—”

“Here it comes.”

“—I broke into laughter at the sight of her.”

“Of course you did.”

Ameera grunted, unable to blame Padmé for her comment when  _ she  _ had been so stupidly mean. “Safe to say that she rightfully kicked me out, and I never saw her face again. When I got back home, I just  _ had  _ to tell Duaa what had happened, even if she would yell at me for sneaking out. She did, of course, but not before we spent a good half hour laughing about it.”

Padmé shook her hand in reprimand, and she turned her head to see Leia’s reaction, she found her with her hands desperately hanging to her head, petrified.

“You  _ broke  _ her, Ameera.”

Ameera raised herself on her elbows to see what Padmé was referring to, and she broke into laughter at the sight of Leia.

Swallowing hard, Leia said, “I’ve had nightmares just like that.”

Ameera scoffed, “Of what, having a bad sexual experience, Your High and Mighty?!”

“Of having my hair catch fire!”

That only intensified Ameera’s laugh. “Now you’ll know never to have sex near a fireplace, for your sake.”

Leia blushed again.

“Well,  _ my  _ first time,” Padmé announced, stealing the focus of the conversation to her to save Leia from Ameera’s incessant mocking. “I was 19, representing Naboo in the Galactic Senate already, and I wasn’t that interested in sex, not at the expense of my duties as a Senator. However… I was slightly curious to know what the fuss was all about.”

Ameera huffed skeptically. “I  _ can’t  _ believe you lost your virginity out of clinical curiosity. You’re so annoying.”

“I think it’s a valid reason,” Leia said.

“And I  _ think  _ you’re just as annoying as her.”

“ _ Hush,  _ ‘Meera, I didn’t interrupt on your story.”

“Except that’s basically all that you did.”

“Whatever— _ anyway, _ ” Padmé commanded the room with her voice, “There was a Senator who worked closely with me. He wasn’t all that much older, I’d say around 22 or 23, and  _ one  _ thing I knew of him was the crush he had for me.”

“Aw, look at her go,” Ameera sang, “Stealing hearts of people in the Senate.”

“I was smart, I had a beautiful body and a pretty face, what was there not to fancy?” Padmé retorted, hoping it would be enough to silence Ameera. “ _ He  _ had a crush on me, and he didn’t try to hide it. So, like the good politician that I am, I exploited his weakness.”

Leia bowed her head, impressed. Ameera rolled her eyes.

“Only  _ you  _ would encourage this.”

“I think it’s very smart of her,” Leia said, “She had a very clear goal in mind, and she critically analyzed the means to achieve it.”

“ _ So annoying _ ,” Ameera repeated.

“When I asked him out for drinks, he was so eager it didn’t take him two seconds to accept my invite. So, we went out, got to know each other a little bit better, and… Well, I was  _ a lot  _ nervous, and at the same time I just wanted to get over with it. I will never forget the look of astonishment on his face when I asked him if he wanted to come over to my apartment — an apartment that I shared with four handmaidens and two security guards, by the way, so bringing a man over that I didn’t really know wasn’t all that dangerous, considering the amount of people there to kick his ass if he tried anything.”

“Okay, but all those people then knew you were going to have  _ sex _ ,” Ameera pointed out, “That sounds so embarrassing.”

Leia conceded with her head. “I’m with Ameera on this one.”

“ _ Finally _ .”

Padmé made a face, “That’s because you’re a prude,” she jokingly said, and Leia gasped at the boldness of her statement. Ameera scoffed. “I had really good rapport with my handmaidens. I told them  _ everything,  _ and they were meticulously aware of my plan long before I put it into action. When we arrived, they were all waiting for us by the entrance, and each death glare they gave him was funnier than the other.”

Leia leaned her back against the couch, at ease. “That must have been nice. The sorority you shared with those girls, I mean.”

Padmé glanced at her curiously, wondering what was going through her mind. “It was. They were my best friends, and they made everything so much easier. Acting as a Queen and a Senator would have been a lot more difficult if I didn’t have them by my side.”

Leia smiled at that.

“Don’t you have anyone like that, Leia?”

Leia was caught aback, not anticipating the question. Ameera turned her head to look at her expectantly.

“Well, I—I had my mom,” she said timidly, “My mom was,” she sighed, “My best friend. She was such a force of nature, and she never allowed any barriers to come between her and me, you know, that typical conflict that arises between mothers and daughters. She made sure I  _ knew  _ that she would always be available, so even if I’ve always been a reserved person with matters of my heart, I always counted on her for everything.”

She lowered her head, smiling to herself at the sudden memories of love that came to her.

“Well, you have us now,” Ameera said gently, extending her arm to touch Leia’s knee. Padmé was surprised at the abrupt show of affection coming from her friend, but it lasted for too little, as Ameera immediately after said, “Back to Padmé’s awkward sex life now.”

Padmé rolled her eyes, but Leia looking back up at her gave her the reassure to continue.

“When I took him to my bedroom, I took the lead, of course,” Padmé said, “I might have had no experience, but I still recognized that sex came with power, and I’d be damned if I would let him have any power over me.”

Once again, Ameera grunted. “ _ Sooooo  _ annoying. Enough with the politics, give us the juicy details.”

Leia made a face. “I’m not sure I want to know  _ that _ .”

“Oh, come on, it’s not like she’s the  _ mother  _ who raised you,” Ameera snapped.

“Still awkward.”

Padmé chuckled. “Don’t worry, I won’t be sharing  _ that  _ much,” she assured, ignoring Ameera’s look of disappointment. “My first time… It was alright. No, it was really  _ bad _ , but it paved the way for the good that would come years later as I came to a deeper understanding of my body. And that made the good even better.”

“Aw, how adorable,” Ameera said in mock amusement.

“The best part of my story is kicking him out immediately after,” Padmé remembered fondly, “He was  _ so  _ ready to take a nap, to spend the night, right next to me, but I wouldn’t have any of that. I had gotten what I needed him for, so he suited me no purpose anymore. I will never forget how  _ hurt  _ he resembled when I forced him out.”

Ameera raised herself on her elbows again to give her a look of approval. “You took full advantage of him and threw him out the second you were done with him. Wow, I am  _ so  _ proud of you, your old hag.”

Padmé laughed. “It was a very empowering moment.”

They chuckled, and silence reigned for a while before the both of them turned their gazes to Leia.

“What?” Leia innocently asked, bringing her wine to her lips and feigning ignorance.

“You know exactly  _ what _ ,” Ameera accused. “It’s your turn to share how bad your first time was.”

As she suspected Ameera intended, her cheeks burned like fire. “Oh no, Ameera. Didn’t you hear Padmé? I’m a  _ prude. _ ”

“Ameera, leave her be,” Padmé scolded. “If she doesn’t want her there, it’s  _ fine _ .”

“None of that,” Ameera said, “You want sorority?  _ This  _ is where the magic happens, Tiny Princess.”

“I — It’ll be embarrassing,” Leia tried.

“And? Haven’t you heard  _ our  _ stories?”

“I mean—” she wrinkled her nose. “For  _ you _ .”

“Whatever does that mean?”

“Well,” she looked up at the ceiling so she wouldn’t have to look at them. “My first time — was pretty good.”

Ameera laughed so loudly she could have awoken all of Coruscant. “ _ Bullshit _ .”

“Not!” Leia defended herself, “It was… magical.”

“It is scientifically confirmed that  _ nobody  _ has a good first sexual experience,” Ameera stated, “You’re no different.”

Leia shook her head, laughing. “Mine was. Of course it wasn’t the best sex of my life, far from it, but… It was good.”

Ameera was about to protest when Padmé lectured her, “Let her speak, Ameera.”

Grunting, Ameera conceded.

“I was always — afraid of sex, you see. As Padmé said, sex is a power play, and given my own position of power, I’ve always been afraid that people would just try to take advantage of me. Because I was a princess, because I was rich, but  _ never  _ because they genuinely cared for me. I understand that sex doesn’t necessarily mean emotional attachment, but… It’s still the most intimate and sacred part of ourselves, and I only ever wanted to share it with someone that I cared for, with someone who cared for  _ me.  _ After Alderaan, I was so shut off to the rest of the world that I’d never think myself capable of establishing that sort of connection with anyone, not when the risks of losing them outweighed the possibilities of joy. Then… Han entered the picture.”

“Wait—” Ameera interrupted, “ _ Our  _ Han?”

“Yes,” Leia said, not giving her the room for further inquiries. “When we were stranded on the Millennium Falcon for days… Well,  _ feelings  _ started to emerge. Feelings that had probably been there for a long time that we — that  _ I  _ was too scared to give voice to. So, we had our first kiss, and, naturally, afterward, I ran away from him. I was  _ terrified  _ of intimacy, let alone intimacy with a man that was always threatening to leave. What if I let him in only to have him leave and take what was left of my heart with him?”

She paused briefly, dwelling in the memories of the past.

“When I told him that I had never had sex before, I expected him to take pride in that — that he would get to  _ deflower  _ a princess. Instead, he was just so  _ sweet  _ about it. He didn’t look at me differently, or belittled me because he had years of experience in advantage. He simply smiled, and told me  _ it _ wasn’t his prize to claim — nor anybody’s else. As our relationship evolved and I finally felt comfortable enough to consummate our act, he was happy,  _ honored  _ that I had trusted him, and just that. He was gentle, and he took it slowly, and he let me guide it on my own tempo. He always made sure that I was comfortable, he kept asking me questions, if it was hurting or if he was going too fast —  _ metaphorically  _ speaking,” she quickly added before Ameera had the chance to make a quirky comment, “And, well. It felt good. Above all, it felt  _ right.  _ As Padmé said, it empowered me, and it showed me that I didn’t have to be afraid of sex…”

Leia abruptly stopped there, like she had got caught in her own line of thinking. Padmé looked at her with a heavy heart, knowing where her mind had taken her, and although there was so much she wanted to say, she remained silent.

“How old were you again?” Ameera asked, unaware of the unspoken tension in the air.

“Hm? I was 22,” Leia replied, her mind taking a little while to fully return to the living stratosphere.

“22—” Ameera gasped, “And you’re telling me that Han is the only man you’ve ever been with?”

Leia simply nodded.

“Oh—See, this is why nobody likes you,” she accused, “You and Han — you’re so perfect together you’re  _ disgusting _ .”

Leia smiled at that.

“She does have a point, though,” Padmé spoke up, “Her story certainly made me look embarrassing.”

“Right?!” Ameera agreed. “ _ So  _ unfair that you’re living straight out of a fairytale.”

“Cheers to that,” Leia raised her glass, “Although — I do feel it’s important to point out that  _ I’m  _ the princess in shining armor, not the other way around.”

The three of them loudly laughed, and Ameera raised an invisible glass, “Cheers to  _ that _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> personally, i love this chapter because nothing happens and yet _so much_ unfolds. also, for context, I am Brazilian, I live under the burning sun of brazil -- I have no idea how fireplaces actually work, so I apologize for any innaccuracy.
> 
> heads warning: I most likely won't be updating next week, due to updating day falling exactly on the festivities, which is also just two days before the anniversary of carrie's death and carrie has been my idol ever since I was a child so that day takes a lot on me yeah. so, all things considered, i'll see you guys on the other side!
> 
> psa~ if you wanna scream about the latest episode of the Mandalorian on the comments, go ahead


	35. Thirty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you all have had lovely holidays <3
> 
> also !! i made a piccrew of ameera [check it out](https://twitter.com/worshipfuIness/status/1344004550475317248?s=20)!

When the sun was high and shining brightly through the windows, Padmé woke up a little disoriented. 

Her body was stiff, and she didn’t really recall when she had fallen asleep. She hadn’t anticipated it, not even after Ameera and Leia had dozed off themselves as the night evolved. She had expected she would stay up all night, contenting herself with her silent worry for both girls for whom she endlessly cared — so having drifted off in an uncomfortable position on the couch she was lying in came to her as a surprise.

Suppressing a yawl, Padmé stretched her back and moved into a sitting position, finding the girls still asleep with her eyes. Ameera laid bare on her back on the floor, nothing but her own arm under her head to give her some sense of comfort, meanwhile, next to her, Leia slept over a pile of pillows that had somehow become her bed. Padmé good-heartedly rolled her eyes at them; to be young and stupid and choose to fall asleep on the cold  _ floor  _ when there were perfectly alright couches behind them.

Stepping on her tiptoes so she wouldn’t wake them, Padmé excused herself from the living room, following towards the kitchen, where the mess of grocery bags still remained. Hearing her stomach groan, she decided to adventure herself through Ameera’s unhealthy eating habits once again, hoping she had missed something  _ eatable  _ the previous night. When she realized that wasn’t the case, she sighed, deciding the best course of action would be to order a takeout, something that the three of them would be able to enjoy.

Sinking down on a chair, a smile shaped the corner of her lips as she thought of what Luke might have been up to. Ever since she had come back into the picture, rare were the days in which they didn’t have breakfast together, and him waking up to find her still  _ gone  _ must have killed him inside. She laughed, thinking of all the ways she could make it up to him — although she wouldn’t trade the previous night for anything. Even with the terrible truths that had been learned, she was glad that they were out there, and maybe Leia could start to find her way towards healing.

With a deep breath, she contemplated what else she could do to be useful. When the only immediate answer to come to her was to order some food, she did just that, and waited for either the food to arrive or one of the girls to wake up in silence, whichever came first.

Meanwhile, across the apartment, Ameera eventually came back to her senses, although she didn’t immediately get up. For a long time, she remained there, not moving, waiting if sleep would take over her again.

Until she realized what had woken her up — next to her, Leia whimpered. Very quietly, almost unnoticeable, but it was still there, and Ameera finally opened her eyes and raised her head just enough to see the lines of consternation written over the princess’ sleeping face.

It didn’t take her two seconds to kick into action. Far too used to her own nightmares and how bad they could be, Ameera dragged her body across the floor so it would be aligned with Leia’s and, without any manners or tenderness, she stumbled her foot against Leia’s thigh and pretended to still be asleep when she noticed Leia coming back to consciousness.

Leia’s mind was hazy, unsure of what had happened other than the sudden strain on her thigh. She blinked the sleep away from her eyes, surprised with all the brightness coming from outside; she couldn’t remember what she was dreaming of, or if she was dreaming at all, but an unexplainable sense of relief came from her chest.

She raised herself, ready to start her day, and finally noticed Ameera’s foot at perfect rage with where the soreness on her leg came from. Amused, she rolled her eyes and spoke loud enough to wake Ameera up.

“Did you just kick me in my sleep?!”

In response, Ameera stumbled her foot against Leia again, lighter this time.

“ _ Excuse  _ me, Your Highness,” she grunted, voice still hoarse from her sleep, “I wasn’t expecting to have the fright of my life when I woke up to a  _ human body  _ being kicked into my foot.”

When Ameera motioned to kick her again, Leia slapped her foot before she had the chance. “I’ll thank you to stop kicking me now that we’re  _ both  _ awake.”

“ _ Fine _ .”

“Oh, good, you’re both awake,” a third voice entered the room, and the young women traced their eyes to find Padmé. She was standing on the corner of the room, hands on her hips, looking down on them. “I hope you’re having the  _ worst  _ backaches from being dumb and sleeping on the floor.”

Making faces and shrugging, the princess and the Twi’lek exchanged glances.

“Not me.”

“Me either.”

“Oh, how I miss being young,” Padmé commented to herself, but soon snapped out of it. “Come on. Our brunch is about to arrive.”

Interested, Leia stood up. Ameera made a face of delight.

“We’re getting brunch?!”

“ _ I  _ for certain am not putting myself through all your junk food again,” Padmé remarked, her voice distant.

“So long as I’m getting free food, I’m not complaining,” Ameera said, finally standing up and following the other two into the kitchen. There, she found Leia with a datapad in her hands. “Why are you smiling like a fool?”

“Hm? Oh, it’s Han,” Leia commented, indeed incapable of getting rid of her smile. “We really did sleep in, and I don’t think Han has ever seen me sleeping in, so he’s losing  _ his  _ mind thinking that we either went missing or somebody lost a limp.”

“That is a very specific concern,” Ameera remarked, taking the seat next to her and across from Padmé.

Leia merely shrugged. “Yeah. He’s tried calling me three times and when I didn’t answer, he started leaving countless messages asking if he should go look for us in a hospital.”

“See, this is why  _ nobody  _ can stand you,” Ameera pointed out, finding a bag of chips for herself despite Padmé's attempt of getting it back from her. “You’re too perfect.  _ He’s  _ too perfect. It makes everybody feel  _ bad  _ that they will never find a love like that.  _ I  _ will never find a love like that, Leia. Do you see what you’re doing to my mental health?!”

“Not really,” Leia feigned ignorance, far more interested in replying to Han than dealing with Ameera’s crisis.

“She doesn’t even pay attention to me anymore,” Ameera turned to Padmé with a pained expression. “It’s all about sorority until a  _ penis  _ comes into the picture.”

Padmé rolled her eyes. “Shut up and eat your damn chips.”

“I thought you were against my chips.”

“Yeah, but so long as they keep your mouth stuffed and I don’t have to hear your voice, I’m not complaining.”

Weighing her options, Ameera happily settled with the bag of chips on her lap.

Soon enough, Leia placed down her datapad, determined to follow Padmé’s advice and stay away from work until she was back at the headquarters. Although she wouldn’t easily admit it, having her mind away from work and appreciating instead the most frivolous night she had had in  _ years  _ proved to be more invigorating than she had expected.

“The other day,” Leia started, leaning her head on the palm of her hand, “Han came to me with the most vulnerable expression I had ever seen on him. You know, his eyes were all huge and there was pain written all over his face, I genuinely thought something  _ bad  _ had happened,” she reminisced with a chuckle; Han had  _ clearly  _ been spending too much time with the Skywalkers so he’d start to pick up on their dramatics. “When I asked him what was wrong, he confessed that he had put up the Millennium Falcon for  _ sale _ because apparently he wanted to show commitment to our relationship and the only way to do so was so he’d help me buy a place for us to live. But now there was a potential buyer for the Falcon, offering to pay him a significant amount of credits for the ship, and Han was simply losing his mind because he didn’t want to lose the Falcon but he didn’t want to  _ lose  _ me either.”

Padmé smiled fondly at that, glad that Han had finally brought himself to talk to her regarding that matter. Leia didn’t need to know that both she and Ameera already knew about it, though. 

“It was so — unexpected, that I just started laughing at him. I thought he was  _ joking _ , trying to be funny or romantic or whatever. But when his expression didn't change, and I realized he was  _ serious _ , I could only stare at him blankly because I know just how much the Falcon means to him. So to know that he would go to that extent if I only said the word… well, it's more poetic than he’s aware. I would never ask such a thing from him, but his willingness to do it either way shows all the commitment he’s afraid he's lacking.”

“He’s a good man,” Padmé said, caving in and taking a chip after Ameera blatantly shoved the bag on her face for the third time in a row. 

“Does Han happen to have a single brother out there?” Ameera asked, “Actually, does he happen to have a single  _ sister  _ out there? Maybe those charming genes run in the family.”

Leia chuckled. “Not to his knowledge.”

“That’s too bad,” Ameera complained, “I could use a spicy Solo in my life.”

“There are plenty of suitable women back in the headquarters, ‘Meera,” Padmé suggested.

“You think I want to date someone traumatized by the war?” Ameera asked horrified, “No, thank you. Dealing with my own trauma is already enough.”

“It would be funny if it weren’t so true,” Leia muffed under her breath, then shivering to herself. Padmé acknowledged her physical response from the corner of her eyes.

“It  _ is  _ funny because it’s true,” Ameera said, to which Leia chuckled.

“No dark humor allowed,” Padmé reprimanded the both of them.

“Come  _ on,  _ Padmé,” Ameera rolled her eyes, “There is no better coping mechanism.”

“There are plenty, actually,” Padmé said very seriously, “Degrading yourself and your traumatic experiences is bad for your mental health. When you diminish your experiences, you’re suppressing them, you’re failing to recognize just how much they affect you. Although your self depreciative comments might bring you momentarily relief, it risks only doing further damaging down the road,” she exchanged long looks with both Ameera and Leia, “Neither of you can change what has happened, and ignoring the emotions that these events bring you won’t make it magically go away. Instead, it makes it worse, because it traps you within your refusal to accept what happened and enhances the bad emotions you’re so desperately trying to avoid.”

Ameera swallowed hard. “It was just a joke.”

“I know, Ameera,” Padmé addressed her gently. “Which is precisely my point.”

“We all have unhealthy coping mechanisms we’re attached to,” Leia commented, avoiding eye contact. “They’re hard to recognize and even harder to let go.”

Padmé bowed her head, conceding. “After I learned the truth about Vader’s identity, and who he had once been to me, I couldn’t bring myself to attune myself to the political sphere of the core worlds. I was a politician, I strongly relied on my knowledge over the current state of politics, even after I went into exile. Being informed had always given me power, so what would it change? And maybe, just maybe, if I watched everything closely, I would learn of the day it would be safe again for me to return. Then, I learned of Vader, and whatever was left of my world collapsed around me. I couldn’t even bring myself to turn on the holonews, because I  _ knew  _ something there would be connected to Vader, and it hurt too much to know what became of the man who I had loved, who had fathered my children. I chose ignorance over power, in attempts of shielding myself from the pain. But the truth is, the pain was always there. Ignoring it only made me think about it every minute of every single day. I couldn’t shut my brain down, not until I started to reconcile my feelings with politics and follow from afar the works of the rebellion against the Empire. They were my only hope of seeing the man that had so wrongly hurt me defeated.”

Leia listened attentively to her. “You still do.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ignore what has happened, even if you don’t see it for yourself,” she said. “Maybe you’ve already accepted your traumas, maybe it’s already become stale, but… You rarely speak of the past, not unless Luke or I ask you to. And I know it’s not because you’re afraid of burdening us with it. Maybe it is too, but you’re also desperately trying to avoid it because the memories are still just as painful.”

Padmé smiled sadly at that. “Like you said, they’re hard to let go.”

Compressing her lips, Leia sadly agreed. She could only chuckle as she saw Padmé reaching out for another chip to cope with the hard truth that had just been presented to her.

“Ignorance  _ is  _ bliss,” Ameera said. “Tell me, Padmé, isn’t it so much better when you focus on the twins and you just forget all the  _ bad  _ that came before them?”

Although Padmé wanted so badly to agree with it, she couldn’t, otherwise, she would contradict herself.

“I recognize the flaws in my behavior,” she said, “But as the  _ two  _ of you know, it’s not easy speaking up about it.”

To that, the two girls nodded.

“My unhealthy coping mechanism is — Han,” Leia admitted, looking down while well aware that they looked at her. “I’m so dependent on him. He carries all of my burdens with me, even when he doesn’t know it, and I  _ know  _ that’s not a healthy relationship. He’s just — my one constant, the one person I can always rely on. This by itself is a flawed thought because there are no guarantees in life, and nothing is stopping him from one day just having had enough of me and deciding to walk away. Or, even worse, he  _ dies  _ and he takes all my sense of security and balance along with him. Yet, I am so scared of what will happen to  _ me  _ if I try to distance myself from him.”

Padmé glanced at her intently. “You don’t need to distance yourself from Han, Leia. However, you do need to learn how to be strong  _ with  _ him, so you’ll know how to be strong without him, too.”

Leia nodded, breathing out anxiously. 

“Han is being deployed in a couple of weeks,” she announced, “He has contacts in the Outer Rim, so the High Council has judged him the perfect character for this mission. Which he obviously is, but… I’ve come to rely on him so much, for everything, that I’m genuinely afraid his absence will be too much to bear. Which is so ironic, because after Alderaan I had become so  _ good  _ at handling myself without the help of others.”

“We’ll be here,” Ameera said, so out of her element. “When he’s gone, I mean. If you want to have slumber parties every day and fall asleep on the floor after hours of meaningless conversation, we’ll be here.”

Leia chuckled, appreciating it.

When silence reigned, Ameera was the one to break it, “Well. The good thing about not overthinking is that I can just say with a clear conscience that I don’t have  _ any  _ unhealthy coping mechanisms.”

Padmé offered her a dirty look. “I think that thought itself already denounces your bad habits.”

Ameera pointed at her carelessly, “ _ That’s  _ only because you tend to overthink everything. Once again proving my point.”

Padmé rolled her eyes but didn’t have the chance to deconstruct her narrative as the bell rang, announcing that their brunch had arrived.

* * *

When the trio finally returned to the headquarters, chaos unfolded.

The girls came to find Luke and Han aboard the Falcon, each looking like their lives had lost complete meaning — corroborating Ameera’s theory that men were  _ worthless  _ without any girls to boss them around. Padmé and Leia could only stare at them in disbelief.

Upon seeing they were back, Luke’s world lit up again. He eagerly jumped on his feet to meet them — Padmé especially — and he impromptu begged her not to ever abandon him again, which forced Padmé to promise she would make it up to him. 

Han, however, held his composure — mostly. He walked up to Leia and greeted her with a gentle kiss, before folding her in his arms and refusing to let her go for the time being — and maybe,  _ just maybe,  _ he was as dependent on her as he was on him.

When night came, he held her close to his heart. She had asked him to spend the night on the Falcon, rather than at her personal quarters, as she longed to be somewhere that felt like  _ home _ , just like Padmé’s apartment had come so close to being.

She laid with her head on his chest, listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat. Knowing him to be awake from the steady pattern of his breathing even if they had been lying in silence for a while — just like he knew her not to be sleeping from the stiffness of her body over him.

They would have been lying amidst the darkness if it weren’t for the small lamp illuminating the room. Leia had asked for him to leave him on; she wasn’t afraid of darkness, but she still unwelcomed it. 

Han knew something to be bothering her; her tense muscles and her arms strongly wrapped around his waist told him as much. He wouldn’t press her or even ask her what was wrong. No; all he would do until she finally found it in herself to talk was to hold her with the same intensity that she held him.

“Han,” she quietly called for him, her voice so low that only the silence of the night would have him hear her. “I… I need to tell you something.”

He ran his hand gently against her back, trying to show her her strength while staying silent. 

“I don’t want to turn off the lights, but…” she gulped, her nails anxiously digging into the palm of her hand. “I don’t want you to…  _ look  _ at me either… not as I tell you.”

He didn’t question her or her motives; instead, he pulled her closer to him in a way that her head fit perfectly the curve of his neck, and he couldn’t see her face.

“Han… I love you so much,” she started, voice starting to crack, “You know that, right?”

“I know,” he said calmly, words so natural on his lips whenever they quipped each other about their love for one another that somehow felt  _ so wrong  _ that night. His heart pounded heavily on his chest. “I know, Leia.”

“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath and breathing in the familiar scent of his. “It’s about… what happened after I freed you from the carbonite. And I’ll need you not to interrupt me, nor ask me questions, nor — be angry, nor anything, because… If you do, I might not be able to finish my story.”

He nodded, and just that.

So, she closed her eyes, and she told him everything. Every horror she endured, every mistreatment of her body, and she did not cry. She held tightly to him, and she felt him hugging her closer whenever her voice started to falter or words started to fail her. She carried out to the end, telling the story that she had never acknowledged aloud until then, and she was almost proud of herself for it.

And when she finished, her body was tenser than before as she dreaded his reaction.

Respecting her wish just as much as her personal space, Han didn’t look at her when she was done. He wouldn’t, not until she had given him permission to. Of course, he had worked for Jabba the Hutt, he was very aware of the horrors that beast and his thugs were capable of — and being with Leia ever since the aftermaths of Tatooine proved him no wrong; he had always known the horrors that she had been forced to endure, although he had always trusted her to come to him when she was ready to accept what had happened.

Now that she had, his heart hurt from hearing the pain in her voice, and how much she was struggling with it. And on a more selfish note, he  _ hated  _ himself for being responsible that she would find herself in that position. He would never enunciate it and lay his burden on her, though.

“Han,” she called for him in his silence, the sound of her words barely making it past her lips. As difficult as it was, she shifted her body and rested her chin over his shoulder, looking at him again and silently asking for visual contact once more. “Do you… Do you still love me?”

Han frowned, her question like a dagger to his heart. He dropped his eyes towards her and he didn’t think he had ever seen so much insecurity coming from  _ her _ . “Where did that come from, Leia?”

She shrugged, uncomfortable, and she could no longer look at him in the face.

He sighed, damning himself for the stupidity of his own question. He didn’t need to be a genius to understand where her uncertainty was coming from, he simply hated that she would think that there was anything that would ever diminish his love for her.

“Leia, look at me,” he asked, his voice carrying out as much sweetness as it did firmness. Reluctantly, she did, and he cupped her jaw with the palm of his hand. “Nothing will ever make me stop loving you, sweetheart. You hear me, Leia?  _ Nothing.  _ What happened to you is an abhorrence that nobody should ever go through, however, it does not diminish your character, or how lovable you are as a person. You didn’t ask for that, you didn’t. You still matter just the same, to me and to everybody else.

Her eyes became warm with tears; she did not blink them away.

“I  _ love  _ you, Leia,” Han said, understanding the importance of saying those words aloud, rather than just implying them. “Nothing is ever going to change the way I feel about you.”

She rested her head over his hand, so grateful for his reaction and his words to her. She could only assume the anger he felt inside as she told him her story, and his willingness not to act on it and instead focus on her wellbeing made so much difference. After all, she had come to learn the hard way that showing anger towards the past would not change what had happened.

Perhaps Han didn’t know it to the same extent that she did. Yet, his calm and his peaceful presence there almost made it easier for her to breathe.

When she laid next to him again, it almost felt right. It almost felt like the past didn’t matter, and hadn’t shaped them into who they now were.

“I wish there was more I could do,” Han said earnestly, burying his nose amidst her hair. He wished more than anything that he could walk with her on a road that only she could see.

“You do enough,” Leia said, fighting the urge to seek a place to hide against him. “Han, you don’t understand how good you are to me. You don’t know how much just you being — you —  _ helps _ .”

He remained silent; he didn’t feel like it.

Leia sighed, snuggling closer to him.

“After I freed you of the carbonite, and my rescue failed — well, I’m sure you remember it,” Leia struggled with her flux of consciousness, “What I want to say is, and I feel so bad for thinking this way, but… I was  _ so relieved  _ that you were blind, Han.”

At loss, he frowned but didn’t comment on it.

“I didn’t wish you to be blind, I would never wish any harm on you,” she said, without realizing she was contradicting herself. “But you were blind, Han. You couldn’t see  _ me _ , like that, wearing that outfit. You couldn’t see me being so overly sexualized and objectified.”

“Leia,” he said with a grave voice. “Like I said, it wouldn’t make a  _ difference.  _ I wouldn’t think any less of you because of it. You were  _ forced  _ to be there.”

“It’s not that,” she whispered, ashamedly. “It’s so irrational, Han, it’s so —  _ stupid,  _ but I was so afraid that, if you got to see me like that, you would have —  _ enjoyed  _ the view. That you would have… appreciated to see me like that. That you would have found me… hot, or whatever.”

“What?” he was confused, and he pulled his head back just enough to be looking at her again. “Leia—”

“Like I said, it’s so irrational, and I  _ know  _ you wouldn’t, but,” she tried to justify herself, “I hate that I feel, that I  _ felt  _ that way towards you.”

“Leia,” he said her name again, looking deeply into the eyes she refused to give him. “I don’t fault you for your feelings. They’re  _ your  _ feelings, and you can’t just alter the way you feel. However, I still need to tell you that I would never share those thoughts. I don’t care how  _ hot  _ they might have made you, if you didn’t ask to be there, then there’s no justification to anyone daring to objectify the way you looked. Leia, I too am grateful that I couldn’t see you back then, but not for the reasons you think. I am just relieved because it would have hurt too much to see you like that.”

Leia swallowed hard; she believed him. Smiling shyly, she took her hand to his face and tenderly brushed her thumb against his cheek. Hoping she would feel a smile forming under the touch of her fingertips — she didn’t.

“Thank you for being so patient with me, Han,” she spoke from her heart. “I know — it mustn’t have been easy.”

“No. Seeing you hurt will never be easy, Leia,” he said. “Loving you,  _ all  _ of you, is a choice I made for myself. There’s nothing difficult about that.”

She chuckled soundlessly. “See? This is what I mean. You help me so much — just by being you.”

He placed his hand over hers and brought her knuckles to his lips.

With tingles on her spine from his simple deed of love, Leia brought her hand back to herself, instead leaning her face closer to his. Their breaths tickled each other’s face, their lips brushed; they delved into each other’s eyes.

“Leia.”

“Shh.”

Shyly, she captured his lips in a kiss, jolts of electricity being sent across all her body at the simple touch. She cupped both his cheeks, gently caressing his skin, while their tender kiss slowly turned into something more. Never once did she dare to close her eyes.

“Leia—”

She chose to ignore him, even as she shifted her body and now laid over him. She kissed lines across his jawline, her hands descending his torso and finding the bare skin under his worn shirt. Her heart was pounding inside her chest; she was sure he could hear it.

“Leia—”

With an accelerated breathing, she adjusted herself over him, with her knees sustaining her body by his sides. Tingles of anxiety were sent down her spine, yet she did not pull away. She focused on him only, and how much love she had for him, and her trembling hands followed down to the waistband of his pants. Then, she essentially stopped breathing, but she still had a very clear goal in mind, and nothing would stop her.

“Leia.”

Han caught her hands in his, trapping her movements without showing any force. She refused to look at him, and she panted on top of him — and there hadn’t been any physical activity to justify that; nothing other than her own mind.

“Leia,” he said her name yet again, his voice gentle and calm. He brought her hands close to his heart and held them there. “Come on, Leia.”

“Han,  _ please _ ,” she begged him, her lower lip trembling. “I need this.”

“No. Not like this, Leia,” he said, forcing his body up so she was sitting on his lap without any malice. He placed the loose straps of her hair that were falling over her face behind her ears, not failing to notice that she wouldn’t look at him in the eyes. “Not when you’re scared.”

Leia chuckled ironically. “I’m not scared of you.”

“I know,” he conceded gently, cupping her face with one of his hands. “But you’re not comfortable, either.”

“Han,” she cried his name, “It’s been  _ so long _ —”

“Nothing wrong with that, sweetheart,” he assured, feeling bad for her hands anxiously fiddling with his shirt. “We’ve got all the time in the world. We won the war, didn’t we? We don’t have to hurry anymore.”

“But—”

He interrupted her by pulling her close, having her face on him, and he tenderly kissed her tears. Leia sighed in defeat.

“Not until you’re ready, Leia,” he said, “I don’t care how long it takes, I’ll still be here. You’re not under any obligation here. I only care for your happiness and your wellbeing, and I want you to be in a good place when we have sex.”

Leia rested her forehead on his shoulder.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Chuckling, he laid back down with her, this time with both his arms securing her next to him.

“I’m terribly sorry, Leia, but I’m exactly what you deserve.”

* * *

When night came, Luke Skywalker was eager to have dinner with his mother on the base cantina.

He knew her to be content to be there as well, simply coexisting with her  _ son _ ; however, she was still distracted, and far too many times she had accidentally drifted away when he was speaking.

Luke didn’t take it personally; no, he was sure she had her reasons, and he respected them. At the same time, part of him wondered what had so suddenly changed that she would have her head up in the clouds.

“Hm? What?”

He merely chuckled as she had lost herself in their conversation for the third time or so.

“I was saying, I hope you know I’m not being melodramatic, nor that I am — jealous, that you’ve been spending some time with Leia.”

Padmé suppressed her frown; she had _ clearly  _ missed whatever had prompted him to bring that up.

“I don’t think that, Luke,” she said, “I think it’s sweet how badly you want to fit in.”

Luke made a face — Padmé just couldn’t tell whether she had said something completely off-topic or if he had something he disagreed with.

“That’s not the impression I want to pass off  _ either _ ,” he snorted awkwardly. “I am just  _ so happy  _ that you’re here, mother. I don’t want to waste a single moment with you.”

“Luke,” Padmé eyed him funnily, “Are you sad that I called Ameera to spend the night with us rather than you?”

His eyes widened; Padmé found it adorable that he had needed her to point it out for him.

“Well, when you put it that way—”

Shaking her head, amused, she reached out to hold his hand. “Luke, I promise you I never wanted to make you feel  _ sad.  _ However,  _ you  _ wouldn’t fit in last night. A lot of things happened, and… We all just needed a break from our lives, while also wanting to be near those that… Have been through similar situations, let’s say.”

Understanding, he nodded. “Is that why you’re so distracted today?”

Padmé sighed, unsurprised that he had noticed it. “In a way, yes.”

“Is everything alright?” he asked, suddenly a little worried.

“As far as it can be,” she said. “Luke — Leia needed me last night, just as she needed a break from everything. You not having been invited has nothing to do with you, but it was everything to do with your sister. I’m not telling you to go pester her, but — be mindful of her, and respect that she needed an environment free of  _ men  _ yesterday.”

He nodded, an unexplainable sense of discomfort coming from his chest. “Is  _ she  _ alright, Padmé?”

Padmé could only smile sadly at his question.

“She will be.”

“As in,” he cleared his throat, “She’s not alright  _ right now _ .”

“Luke,” she called his name, “You saw her today—”

“Leia isn’t one to easily express her feelings,” Luke interrupted her, “Before, I was able to get a sense of what was going through her mind due to our Force bond. Now that it’s gone… It’s just like when I first met her, and she’s as shut off to me as she is to the rest of the world.”

Padmé nodded, wondering if Leia’s reasons for keeping her distance from her brother had anything to do with the impossible circumstances they had been put through at Jabba’s palace and Luke’s mishandling of the situation. 

“Leia — is going through…  _ something  _ as of the moment,” Padmé indulged, bringing no further insight into a story that didn’t belong to her. “She will come to you when she’s ready.”

“I miss her,” he bluntly said, “Everything feels… so different. Not because of you, mother, at least I don’t think so. It’s just—”

“Each new day is a day further away from the war,” Padmé illustrated, “And the further behind the war is, the more time we have to think about all the things that happened, things that were so wrong and inhuman that they should never have happened. But they still did, Luke, and it’s not easy.”

Luke rested his chin over the palm of his head; he knew that better than anyone. 

“Alderaan?”

Padmé shrugged rather than answering. 

Luke sighed. “I never expected the aftermath to be so much more painful than the actual war.”

“Yeah,” Padmé lamented.

“I am  _ happy,  _ though, that you could have been there for Leia, and that Leia accepted your caring,” Luke prompted, shyly smiling with the corner of his lips. “I know how much she needed that, despite her refusal to admit it, and… I know how much it meant to you.”

Likewise, Padmé rested her face on her hands; she knew how much Leia was lacking in women figures in her life, ever since the death of Alderaan, and the previous night had been just about that. Not mother and daughter bonding, but  _ women  _ being there for each other when the galaxy was so crude to them as its essence.

“It was a lovely night,” she said, and it was true. Despite everything that had been revealed, it was a peaceful night where they just got to be themselves. Padmé would always cherish that night. “I guess — we all needed that. To relish each other’s presence and just that. Ah, I don’t expect you to understand—”

“Yeah, I know, I’m a  _ boy _ ,” Luke teased, “Don’t worry, mother. Ameera made that much quite clear.”

Padmé laughed. “Ameera  _ does  _ like you. She just — has a unique way of showing it.”

“Oh, I know,” Luke dismissed it with his hand, “She convinced me of much when she called me to a private corner earlier today, saying she had the most important secret of the galaxy and needed to share it with me, and then proceeded to tell me that  _ my sister  _ doesn’t know how to clean.”

Padmé snorted loudly. “It was — a very eye-opening discovery, let’s say.”

Luke chuckled. “I can’t wait until she’s in a better place so I can start teasing her about  _ that _ .”

“No, Luke, don’t wait it out,” Padmé suggested, “Do it anyway, as if nothing had changed between the two of you. Because it  _ hasn’t,  _ and the only way to certify that is by being yourselves.”

“Okay,” he agreed softly. “I will do that.”

Padmé smiled discreetly.

“And thank you, by the way, for having dinner with me,” Luke said earnestly. “Not to sound too childish but — I did miss you, mother. I’m so happy that you’re here that just one day away from you makes me afraid that you’ll just disappear again.”

“Well, Luke, I’m sorry to break it to you but  _ I’m  _ not going anywhere,” Padmé sweetly assured him. “Because I am equally as happy to be here.”

After that, there was no restraining of his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a nice little chapter to start off the year well :)
> 
> let me know what you think!


	36. Thirty-Five

To say that Luke was excited to finally have his own tour of Padmé’s old apartment was an understatement.

His eyes glowed with enthusiasm as he first stepped into the home that  _ he  _ was once supposed to call his own; his heart thundered fast with his excitement and he wanted to cherish that moment forever.

Padmé simply let him be; she watched from afar as he explored the place and touched everything in sight — sensing the love and hope that once consumed the apartment, she understood. She happily entertained him with answers to his every question, no matter how frivolous they seemed; she knew just how much it meant to him.

Padmé had come back to the apartment a few times after hers and Leia’s night out, intending to get rid of unnecessary stuff of her past and getting the place tidied up; however, she had never brought herself to spend the night alone there. She was starting to share Ameera’s discomfort with solitude, and her old home never seemed so big as to when she was alone there.

Too many ghosts. Everywhere she looked, she saw glimpses of the life that had been stolen from her. With Luke there, though, she could relish his happiness to find links to his past, instead.

“Mother, this place is  _ huge _ ,” Luke commented loudly, lost somewhere inside the apartment and Padmé couldn’t see him. She could, however, hear the eagerness behind his voice. “I know that rich people have big houses, but experiencing it is  _ something else _ .”

Padmé snorted loudly at his comparison, and he soon emerged into the living room again. “This was once a very crowded apartment. It needed to be big, so everyone would have their privacy and not suffocate on each other’s presence.”

Luke eyed her funnily. “You mean, you needed space from my father —?”

“No,” she replied gently, “But I used to live here with my handmaidens  _ and  _ my personal guards when I first moved to Coruscant. My handmaidens were my friends and my allies, and my guards — well, I wasn’t  _ that  _ eager to have them breathing down on my neck all the time, but I understood the importance of having them. Especially as an inexperienced senator in the frightening political world.”

Luke smiled, giving a face to every person she had mentioned and wondering what their personalities had been like. From the way she spoke of them, they clearly once meant so much to her.

“What happened, ern,” he asked a little shyly, “Once you married my father in secrecy? Were they still here?”

“Your father and I got married just when the Clone Wars started,” Padmé reminisced, “He was away protecting the galaxy far more often than he was home, and in his absence, I didn’t mind spending time with my handmaidens. However, after Cordé, one of my handmaidens, died protecting me, it all felt so…  _ wrong.  _ Of course they all knew the dangers of their jobs, they were all  _ ready  _ to give their lives for me, but — knowing that somebody died to protect you isn’t an easy burden to carry. And when they asked me, one by one, to leave and follow their own paths, I could only give them my bliss to go. Until only I was left behind.”

Coyly, he approached her with cautious steps. “That must have been very lonely.”

“It was,” she agreed sadly, “It wasn’t long until I learned I was pregnant with you, though, and my solitude was no more.”

At that, Luke smiled, his eyes wandering away to explore the place once again.

“I can’t believe this is where we were supposed to grow up,” he said, lost in his thoughts, “It seems so… unreal.”

Padmé nodded, taking small steps after him. “Well, I wanted to raise you in Naboo,” she said, “Not here. I wanted you to live a life free of worries, free of restraints. I don’t think I would have fully stepped away from my political life, but… I could have taken a step back, working back home rather than still being here in the Senate. Above all, I… I wanted you to have a close family. People other than me and your father that you could rely on.”

Interested, Luke searched for her with the corner of his eyes. “You mean your family in Naboo?”

Silently, she conceded. 

“Tell me about them.”

“Oh,” Padmé was taken by surprise; she hadn’t talked about them  _ for so long _ . “Well — what would you like to know?”

“Everything,” he said, “After all, they… They’re my family as well, right?”

Padmé smiled at that. “They are.”

She found herself a seat, although Luke remained standing.

“I was raised by the greatest parents I could ask for,” she said warmly, remembering the people that had taken care of her fondly. “My father, Ruwee, was a local politician, and I suppose he was my gateway into the political world as well. My mother, Jobal, was a seamstress, and she had the biggest heart you’d ever see in anybody. They always encouraged me to follow my path, even if that path led me to move to Coruscant and barely seeing them due to my work. But they loved me, and they were very supportive of me, and that’s all I could have ever asked for.”

Beaming to himself, Luke sat in front of her. 

“Growing up, that was all that I ever wanted,” Luke recollected sadly, “To have parents, foster or not, that supported my life choices. Aunt Beru did, but there was little she could do, because of Uncle Owen. He never allowed me to chase my dreams, no matter how small they were. It was always about working at the moisture farm and just that.”

Joylessly, Padmé reached out to touch his knee. 

“You deserved better than that,” she said, “Luke — you deserved everything the galaxy had to offer you. You were always destined for greatness.”

Luke shrugged. “I know that, for my own safety, I couldn’t be sent off to Naboo to be raised by them, but… Sometimes I wonder how different things would have been if only.”

Padmé compressed her lips; if —  _ when  _ she went back to Naboo to present herself to her family again, having the twins following her close behind, she knew lots of questions would arise — questions about why the twins hadn’t been sent to them, included. The Naberries were a force of nature, and they fiercely protected one of their kind, so the news that they had lost not only their daughter but their grandkids in life would weigh on them. Padmé sighed.

“They would have spoiled you a lot, I can promise you as much,” Padmé prompted, noticing sadly how Luke lit up at the prospect. “And — you wouldn’t grow up alone. You’d have two cousins to play with, Pooja and Ryoo, my sister’s daughters.”

“They were my age?” Luke asked excitedly.

“Ryoo was nine, by the time you were born, and Pooja was about five,” she said, “Not exactly close to age but, well, children  _ manage _ ,” she laughed, “Sola, my sister, was about four years older than me, and we were still attached to the hip while growing up.”

He smiled melancholically at that.

“I know there’s no point in wishing for things of the past, but I wonder what it would have been like growing up with Leia,” he suggested, “I wonder if we would drive each other insane or if we would be inseparable.” 

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive,” Padmé laughed. “Under the circumstances in which you were all each other had left, you would have been very close, although your closeness wouldn’t erase all the times you’d feel like slapping each other in the face.”

Luke seemed abhorred with the idea. “I would  _ never  _ slap my sister, mother…!”

Amused, Padmé shook her head. “You say that  _ now _ . I can attest that many times you and your sister would threaten to kill each other — and not at all in quick and painless ways.”

“I would  _ never _ ,” Luke seemed determined, “Leia, however—”

Padmé rolled her eyes.

“Be nice to your sister.”

Luke chuckled. “After all you’ve told me, you’re gonna try and convince me that you and Sola were  _ always  _ nice to each other?”

“Definitely not,” she commented, “ _ However,  _ and I do feel very strongly about carrying this specific family tradition — my parents were always reprimanding us and  _ insisting  _ we should be nice to each other. So I’m terribly sorry, Luke, but you’re going to have to deal with this as well.”

He laughed. “Well, so long as  _ Leia  _ gets the same treatment—”

“She does,” Padmé reassured.

Pleased with the answer, he let it go.

“Padmé,” he called for her, and she knew it to be something serious as he so seldom addressed her by her name. “Will I ever have the chance to meet your family?”

“Of course,” Padmé quickly answered, her voice full of certainty; even if she still had so much insecurity regarding her family to quell, she knew she couldn’t run away from there forever, and — she wanted so  _ badly  _ for her family to meet her children; even if she hadn’t raised them, she wanted her family to be proud of the heroes that had come from  _ her.  _

She sighed, noticing from Luke’s silence that he was waiting for a little more than  _ that _ .

“I am waiting — for everyone to be in a better…  _ mindset _ ,” she elucidated, her vision now locked to her hands on her lap. “I don't want us to fly to Naboo to meet them while still struggling with our own issues only to be quarreled by them there.”

“Come on, they’re your  _ family _ ,” Luke suggested, “What so bad could happen?”

“Family can be very overwhelming,  _ especially  _ when they want to be,” she prompted, “Especially once they learn that they were grieving for a loved one that was still alive, only hidden from them.”

“Is that why you’re so scared of them?”

“I’m not scared of them,” she corrected, “I’m scared  _ for  _ them. Luke, I — I’ve been there. I’ve dealt with my fair share of resentment for having my children taken from me and missing over two decades of their lives. They’ll hurt just as badly to know that they were deprived of years of both me and my children.”

“They can’t fault you for keeping us from them,” Luke reasoned, “Not when you didn’t know of us.”

“Granted, but…” she exhaled tiredly, “Families and emotions are complicated. They will be very sad nonetheless for everything they missed. And I can’t  _ blame  _ them for such a reaction.”

Luke smiled sorrowfully, “Because you’ve felt the same?”

“More often than I would like,” Padmé chuckled ironically, before looking at him again. “Somedays, it is very hard, when you’re struck with the grievance for everything that was stolen from you.” 

It was Luke’s turn to reach out and touch her leg.

“Then, I look at you, and I look at Leia, and it’s like it never mattered, because I am here now and I  _ have  _ you and I’m not losing you ever again.”

He smiled at that, and so did she.

“Padmé,” there it was again, his serious and somehow hesitant voice. “Do you think your family will like me?”

Her eyes widened, his question catching her by surprise. Not because he dreaded her family would dislike him — on the contrary — but she wondered where his sudden insecurity came from.

“I ask, because—” he flushed, tripping on his words. “Well, I suppose Uncle Owen didn’t exactly  _ like  _ me. He tolerated me and my existence, and just that. And Leia — I think it took her a while to start liking me. So I was wondering—”

“There’s nothing wrong with your character,” Padmé vowed before he had the chance to finish his sentence. “I can’t pretend I understand Owen Lars’ irritability, but you were just a child, you weren’t at fault for that. And Leia — well, you met Leia immediately after  _ Alderaan _ , so I’m certain she was far more busying trying to hold herself together than assessing how much she liked you.”

His cheeks reddening, he agreed.

“Besides — for what it’s worth, I  _ did  _ like you ever since the moment we first met,” she smirked broadly, “ _ Far  _ more than I initially liked Leia, as I was too busy being  _ terrified  _ of her.”

Luke laughed loudly at her humor; he couldn’t blame her for that, as they all had been there once —  _ especially  _ Han.

“It’s really been some wild months, hasn’t it,” he commented, nostalgic as it all seemed so far in the past and barely the other day at the same time. “I’m glad we’ve come to a point where we can almost call ourselves — a traditional family.”

Padmé chuckled.

“Don’t think there’s anything traditional when the patriarch of the family is  _ Darth Vader _ ,” she joked, Luke’s look of horror making it even funnier. “Come on. I’ve found a few things that I assumed you’d like to see.”

His curiosity peaked, Luke followed her deep inside the apartment until they had reached a small den where two boxes laid. Instructing he should sit down by the couch, she picked up one of them and gave it to him.

“It’s just a bunch of stuff I’ve found laying around that I assumed you’d want to have,” she said, a little self-consciously, “But if you don’t want them, it’s fine.”

“Mother, of course I want them,” he eagerly responded, long before opening the box. He lifted his chin towards the second box, “Is that one for Leia?”

“Yeah,” she nervously, “But I’m not sure if I should give them to her.”

“Why not?” he frowned.

“I’d feel bad giving her heirlooms from  _ my  _ past when she doesn’t have anything left from  _ her  _ past.”

“Oh,” his gaze dropped. “Maybe that should be just another reason why you  _ should  _ give them to her. So she’ll have  _ something  _ to hold tight to.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Padmé sighed, dropping herself to his side. “Are you going to open it?”

Excitedly, he opened the box.

The box was filled with a couple of trinkets from Padmé’s past; Luke immediately felt a brush of comfort through the Force. There wasn’t much there, and although he didn’t know where to begin, he was suddenly drawn to a stack of envelopes, held together by a rubber band. He pulled it out.

Padmé smiled warmly at that. “Oh, those. The letters your father and I wrote to each other while he was away in the Clone Wars. I know what you’re thinking, that this is so archaic of us when we could have very easily used datapads, but datapads are very easy to hack. When you’re living a clandestine marriage, well, all secrecy is welcomed.”

“I was thinking it’s rather romantic,” Luke commented. “Can I read them?”

“Of course,” Padmé said, “Don’t worry, I set aside all the letters that you’re too young to read.”

Luke’s eyes widened and he became red at the innuendo. Padmé amusedly chuckled at him.

“I’m kidding,” she said, although making a face to herself — well,  _ mostly.  _ Lucky for her, Luke didn’t see it. “These are mostly just letters of us telling each other of our battles, him on the battlefield and me in the Senate. You know, little things that we would like to tell each other but didn’t matter enough to take place over other things when we got to call each other.”

Luke nodded. “I can’t wait to read them. Not to privy on your love life, far from that, but… I believe I’ll get to learn a little bit more about Anakin through his personal letters.

“For sure,” Padmé agreed, watching as he put the letters aside and pulled out a long black cloth. “Your father’s favorite cape.”

Luke’s eyes sparkled as he held the piece of clothing dearly in his hands. 

“I couldn’t find that much stuff from your father,” she said melancholically. “It’s all — gone. I assume that, after I  _ died  _ and he became Vader, he must have come back here to erase all the attachments to the  _ human  _ he had once been. Somehow… the cape stayed.”

Luke pulled the cape close to his heart, wondering if it still smelled like his father. It only smelled of dust.

“It survived because  _ I  _ was fairly attached to the cape,” she ventured, “I was pregnant, and I was all alone, and all I wanted was to feel your father’s presence next to me. Maybe it was much more of my favorite cape of his than the other way around,” she laughed, but her laugh was hollow. “I kept it separated from his clothes, keeping it with mine instead. So, I found it in the back of the wardrobe. Almost intact to the trickeries of time.”

“You’re giving it to me, mother?” Luke asked, his voice full of emotion.

“It’s yours,” Padmé said, gently placed her hand over his shoulder. “You’re smaller than him, so it’ll probably be a little too big for you. Nothing that we can’t fix, though, if you want to wear it. Or if you just want to keep it safely stored as an heirloom, it’s okay.”

“Do I have to decide now?”

She discreetly giggled. “It’s yours, Luke.”

He laid the cloak over his lap, setting it aside before it became too much. 

Blinking fast, he reached out for another piece of clothing there, this time made of soft wool. He pulled it out and noticed it to be a baby onesie. It had his name embroidered on it. A sense of warmth took over him.

“This was supposed to be mine?”

“Yes,” Padmé heartily conceded. “I… I made it myself. I was so convinced we were having a boy that I had chosen your name long before you were born. I know my knitting isn’t the best, especially not compared to my mother’s, but… I wanted my baby to have something that I made for them. Something that they could remember me by after I was gone.”

Luke smiled fondly at the tiny onesie in his hands. “It’s  _ beautiful,  _ mother, and it means so much. To know how loved I was long before I was even born. I will cherish this forever, even if I, well, will never get to wear it.”

Padmé huffed softly. “It would look ridiculous on you at your current age.”

Luke snorted; he hadn’t expected such a comeback.

“Did you ever make one for Leia?” he asked, “I know you were convinced you were carrying a boy, so it would be an unpleasant surprise if you ended up giving birth to a girl and you had nothing to give her.”

“ _ Anakin  _ was convinced I was carrying a girl,” Padmé remembered, “I, of course, debunked his every statement that we would have a girl. Mother intuition, you know? Likewise, Anakin couldn’t be persuaded that we’d have a boy _.  _ Although I was certain he was wrong, I still started knitting her own onesie. It’s in her box, but… I never got to finish it.  _ Life  _ happened before I could finish it, and just her initial is embroidered there.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to see it nonetheless,” Luke said. “So, after all, even if you don’t remember it, you still got to name Leia and me.”

Padmé hummed. “I can’t speak for what happened during your birth, but yes, I believe that’s right.”

Luke ran his thumbs over the embroidery of his name. “Is there any meaning behind our names? Or did you choose it simply because you liked them?”

“ _ Luke _ means light in Naboo,” she answered with a warm smile. “And Leia — means hope.”

Luke smiled at that.

“Of course, I had no means of knowing the people you’d grow to be, but,” she prompted quietly, “In a way, your names have become your essences in life. You, the young man who restored light to the galaxy. Leia, a beacon of hope for everybody in need.”

He flushed but appreciated the juxtaposition. 

“You were always destined for great things,” Padmé commented softly. “And, from the moment you were conceived, you were my light and hope.”

“I’m glad, mother, that we could make you proud.”

“Well, it doesn’t take  _ too much  _ to make a mother proud,” she chuckled gently, running the back of her hand against the corner of her eye. “So long as you were kind and treated others with compassion, I’d be proud, but — I do admit to being  _ prouder  _ than the average mother.”

Chuckling, he offered her hand a tender squeeze. 

Lastly, Luke Skywalker reached for a velvet box, its texture funny on his fingers. He pulled it out and was momentarily mesmerized by its alluring vivid red, before finally opening it and revealing a silver pendant. Luke carefully took it off the box and brought it close to his eyes — it was a cosmo pendant, with an infinity of white sapphires set in sterling silver; it was simple and elegant.

“I love that necklace,” Padmé said honestly, “It belonged to my grandmother, then it was passed down to my mother, and my mother gave it to me the day I was crowned Queen of Naboo. Now, as tradition follows, it belongs to you.”

“I — I don’t understand,” Luke stuttered, still captivated by the gem. “Why aren’t you giving this to Leia?”

“Leia has her own set aside for her if she would like to have it,” she explained, “Besides, I don’t want you to think you’re not allowed to have a family heirloom just because you’re a  _ boy _ .”

Luke sniffed. “There’s nothing wrong with me wearing it?”

“Not at all,” she smiled, “Or, you can keep it safe to give to your significant other, or to pass down to your daughter, if you ever have one. The significance matters more than the appearance.”

He closed his palm around it and held it safe in his hand. “I will take very good care of it, Mother. Thank you for trusting me with this, with all of these. The only heirloom I ever had was my father’s lightsaber, and — well, I lost it, in a duel against Vader. It means more than you can think to have something from my past that will shape both my president and my future.”

Padmé lightly caressed his arm. “You’re very welcome, Luke. It makes me happy to have the chance to pass these down to you.”

Luke smiled and reached out to give her a tight hug.

* * *

“Are you sure you want to do this here?”

Luke looked at his mother with hesitant eyes as he sat down on the floor outside on the balcony of her apartment. The Coruscanti sun was starting to descend into the horizon, and the light of the sunset cast a golden shadow over them. 

Unlike him, Padmé remained on her feet, anxiously paving from one side to another. Her arms were crossed against her chest, and although her eyes were focused ahead of her, she was looking at nowhere at all.

“Yes,” she replied, firm, and said nothing more.

“I just,” Luke started, struggling to keep up with her figure moving from side to side, “I don’t want to taint this place for you.”

Padmé sighed, her pacing steady. “You won’t taint it, Luke.”

“I don’t want  _ him _ to taint this place for you,” Luke corrected himself with a raspy voice. “Don’t hide your fears behind semantics.”

“I’m not afraid of him.”

“Maybe not, but I still sense a great lot of fear coming from you,” Luke gently said, pulling his legs closer to him. “You might not be afraid of him, but you’re still afraid of what  _ he  _ will bring you, as well as confronting all your unresolved issues with him.”

Her hands descended to her hips, trying to insinuate she didn’t really care. “ _ Anakin  _ can’t ruin this place for me. All my best memories of him happened here, and I need to hold tight to them if I’m going to speak to him again — even if not directly.”

She referred to herself being unable to communicate with the ghost of her dead husband, therefore she relied on Luke to mediate between them. She despised the idea of putting him through that, especially when she had  _ so much  _ she wanted to yell at Anakin, because of Vader’s misdeeds, but like Leia had pointed out to her, it was time she stopped running away from her past. And the only way to do it was through Luke.

They had, of course, asked Leia if she wanted to be there with them, as she too had too many unfinished issues related to the man that had fathered her. In response, Leia had laughed at their faces, appreciating them for their humor, and walked away without saying anything of substance.

Respecting his mother’s reasons, Luke nodded. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, mother?”

“No,” she confessed humbly, “But I need to do this either way. It’s time I face all the pain that Vader has brought. To me, to my children, to the entire galaxy. I will always love Anakin, but I cannot, will not, excuse the things that he did. However… I would still like to hear it from him, to listen to his reasonings and try to  _ understand. _ ”

“Alright,” Luke conceded, placing his hands above his knees. “Should we start, then?”

Taking a deep breath to ease her nerves, Padmé sat in front of her son — just as she had  _ so many times  _ with her husband while he meditated. Gently, she placed one of her hands over his.

“Are you  _ sure  _ that you’re willing to do this, Luke?” she asked from her heart. “These matters — are between Anakin and me. I don’t want our encounter to bring further pain than Vader has already caused you. I know you offered to do this for me, but you’re not under any obligation here. You don’t deserve to carry your parents’ conflict as well as your own.”

“Yes, I’m  _ sure _ ,” Luke assured, offering her his sweetest smile. “Anakin and I — we didn’t part on good terms the last time we faced each other, and I would be lying if I denied my fright towards our reunion, but as you said, maybe I would like to understand him too. Maybe that’s all I need to accept the past and let it guide me into building a future.”

She squeezed his hand. “It doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

“No,” he chuckled sadly, “I guess that’s the burden we will always carry as Vader’s relatives.”

Padmé frowned discreetly.

“Anakin.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re  _ Anakin’s  _ son, not Vader,” Padmé said, “You carry Anakin’s light, not Vader’s malevolence.”

Luke smiled with closed lips, so unnoticeably that she couldn’t tell it was really there.

“This is it, then,” Luke changed the subject. “Let’s do this.”

Anxiously, Padmé nodded.

“How are you going to call for him?”

“Ern, I’m not really sure,” he mumbled, “All the times that Master Yoda and Ben came to me, it was because I  _ needed  _ them, not because I had called for them. But when Anakin came to us… Well, apparently both Leia and I were calling for him while we meditated, even without our awareness. So I guess that’s what I will do. Meditate and let the Force guide me towards him, hoping that he will listen.”

“Alright,” she said. “Would you… Would you like me to leave while you meditate? I understand that you’re at your most vulnerable when you meditate, that you give yourself into an intimacy only known to you. So if you’d like to be alone for the time being, I’ll step aside.”

“You’re right. There’s nothing more intimate than when a Jedi connects themselves to the larger world, to the Force that binds us all together,” he said. “But… You’re part of my world, too, and your existence is intrinsic to mine. So… if you wouldn’t mind… Would you stay by my side while I meditated?”

She smiled warmly, and it was the most honest smile she had to give him.

“It would be an honor, Luke.”

Taking a deep breath, Luke Skywalker closed his eyes, and the veil of the Force embraced him.

* * *

The sparks were there to welcome him; they always were. 

Luke smiled; tried to touch them, but they went away too fast.

Twirling around himself, he tried to recognize where he was. The familiar humming of spaceships buzzed in his ears, and the sound of metal echoed under the sole of his feet. It was dark, and the dark scared him.

_ He had been there before,  _ he realized. The narrow corridor halls creeping in around him and threatening to swallow him in. He had been there before, and he hadn’t felt good about it back them, either. He looked ahead, and the corridor went on forever. A lingering threat that darkness would prevail, and he couldn’t escape it. Desperate to find the light again, Luke looked to his side and noticed a dim trail of light escaping from under a closed door.

He approached it; he would like to be where the light was. He could feel the soft resonance of life from the other side, but when he tried to come in, he noticed the door to be locked. He was stuck in the darkness, the light being forbidden to him.

_ “And now, Your Highness, we will discuss the location of your hidden rebel base.” _

Luke stumbled back, his heart thundering;  _ no _ , why would the Force bring him there? He had been there for his sister in the aftermath of Yavin, he had seen the consequences of her treatment on the Death Star beforehand, even if she had tried so desperately to hide it from them. He didn’t  _ want  _ to bear testimony to Leia’s torture.

_ “You can do whatever you want with me. I won’t talk, you won’t make me.” _

_ “So be it, Princess.” _

She screamed, and Luke placed his hands over his ears, desperate to erase her pain from his mind. He thought he was trapped there forever as the sinking realization that he was still in the light, while Leia was treated with brute darkness, struck him and stole his breath away.

When the door hissed open, he saw his sister’s lifeless body thrown to the floor, and the urge to go to her spoke louder than the awareness that these events had already happened, and he couldn’t alter them. Darth Vader stepped out of the tiny cell, his life signature devoid of any emotion. Luke looked at him, but he couldn’t tell whether his presence had been noticed or not.

_ “Her resistance in the Force is quite strong. Most impressive.” _

Vader walked away, into the depths of the physical darkness where light abode. Luke let him go, determined to go to his sister, only to have the door shut on his face when he tried to reach her. Taking a deep breath, he looked for Vader once again and saw the shadows of his cape disappearing into the darkness. Luke ran after him, but the more he ran, the more distant he became.

Suddenly, the infinite corridor came to an end. Luke almost tripped as he stumbled into a big, threatening hall. It was poorly illuminated but clear enough for him to notice a big glass window with a perfect view to the other side. Hesitantly, he walked up there and found his best friend in a torture chamber.

Luke placed his hand on the cold glass, trying to reach out for him. Han Solo grunted in agony as stormtroopers worked mercilessly on him. Luke could not save him.

“They’re not even questioning him anything…” he muttered aloud, expressing his discomfort to the Force, understanding the Force was trying to teach him something important, but unable to comprehend what.

“There’s no information he can offer them.”

Luke jumped at the sound of a person next to him. He tilted his head and found his sister there, her expression blank as she stared dead ahead into them hurting the man she loved. She looked vulnerable and small, yet she could not look away. He didn’t know how she could do it, when upon finding her being tortured as well, his first instinct was to pull away.

So, he focused on her instead of his friend in pain. “Why are they hurting him, Leia? Why aren’t they hurting—”

Because it only made sense that they would try to obtain information from Leia instead; after all, she was one of the key leaders of the rebellion, and she knew every strategic plan that mere pilots and mere Jedis like Han and him didn’t know. However, he couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud. She had already been hurt too much.

“They know I won’t talk,” she said plainly, almost  _ offended  _ that they wouldn’t at least try to get something out of her before moving onto Han.

He wanted to place his hand on the small of her back, in a small gesture of comfort; he didn’t, since he couldn’t tell whether she’d welcome it or not.

“Why are they hurting him?” Luke asked, guilelessly. “There must be a reason—”

“The Empire doesn’t need tangible reasons to bring suffering,” Leia expired, “They’re in a position of power. They hurt because they can.”

“It can’t be that simple.”

“Sometimes, it just is,” she lamented, and in her brief silence, a cry of pain echoed from the other side of the glass. Her expression remained blank.

“Leia—”

“They’re hurting him because they want you,” finally, she said. “They want you, and the only way to lure you into their trap is by hurting those you love.”

Luke swallowed uncomfortably; he never wished to harm anyone—

“It’s not your fault,” Leia said, reading his mind. “The Empire will do whatever it needs to get what it wants.  _ Vader  _ has lived under that mantra for over two decades now, there is no changing that. There will be casualties, too many of them, and because of  _ them  _ that we must thrive to survive.”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Han won’t  _ die,  _ Leia. Not from his.”

Leia barely shrugged. “But he could.  _ I  _ could die, Vader just needs to say the word. In the greater scheme of things, our lives don’t make any difference. Only  _ yours  _ do.”

Luke displayed his lips flatly; he didn’t think any lives were separable. “What should I do then, Leia?”

Of course, he already had his answers; he would always go back to his friends, no matter the circumstances or the possible threats to his life. Still, he would like to know what she thought.

And for the first time, Leia looked at him.

“Run away.”

Luke gazed at her with sad eyes. “I can’t run away, Leia. You and Han are in danger.”

“Run away nonetheless.”

“ _ You  _ would never walk away, Leia.”

Her eyes were locked on the man she loved again. “Only because I have nowhere to run away  _ to _ ,” she justified. “If Alderaan still lived, I would run back home in a heartbeat.”

“By your logic, if I should go home,” Luke said, “My path would just lead me straight back to you. You and Han are my home.”

She smiled, but it wasn’t an honest one.

“You were always the good one.”

Luke looked past her, his eyes lost. It was never about being good; it was about doing the  _ right  _ thing. His goodness had nothing to do with it.

Only when did he notice another door not far away from them. He frowned, he didn’t remember it being there before.

“What’s that?” he asked nobody at all, walking towards it with closed fists. A certain discomfort in his chest that he couldn’t explain as he approached it.

“Don’t go there, Luke.”

He turned around to face Leia. She was still on her back to him, standing motionlessly before the transparent glass. Behind him, behind the door, somebody wept quietly. 

“What’s in there?” he asked her, and when she didn’t respond, he was determined to save whoever was on the other side.

“Don’t go there,” Leia spoke softly with the voice that commanded entire rooms. She said it the moment his hand touched the knob, and the annexation of her voice on his ear and the cold feel of the metal on his hand brought back a breathtaking sensation that he had only ever felt when his sister had gone radio silent after she infiltrated Jabba’s palace to rescue Han, and he only knew her to be suffering.

With tears in his eyes, he faced Leia once more.

“I have to save her,” he cried, “I have to save  _ you _ .”

“That door isn’t open for you,” Leia said gravely. “Respect it enough to walk past it.”

It became so hard to breathe, having to choose between her privacy and saving her from harm.

“But what about you, Leia?”

“I’ll live,” she said simply, “Like I always do.”

He heard the burden that her survival brought her all too well.

He closed his eyes amidst his melancholy.

“I’ve got to save  _ you _ , Leia.”

“If you love me, in any way, you will walk away.”

Luke jumped when her voice came from next to him. When he opened his eyes, he found her standing in front of him, wrapped in a thin blanket, her hair falling to her side in a single thick braid. Her eyes were devoid of life.

“Leia, I can’t bear to see you hurt.”

“You will have to learn how to, then,” she advised him. “What happens on the other side of his door isn’t welcome to you. Perhaps it never will be. But if you ever,  _ ever  _ want this door to open for you, you will have to love and respect me enough to take a step back.”

He did not step back, but he didn’t go forward either.

“I love you, Leia,” Luke said, “I will only ever do what’s best for you.”

“What you think is best for me and what I  _ know  _ is best for are two different things,” she declared. “Right now, you have a choice to make, and this choice might dictate how your relationship with your  _ sister  _ will be for the rest of your life.”

Luke looked at the door one last night, and even though the silent sound of crying had grown, he closed his eyes and wished with every fiber of his being for it to go away.

It did.

The room was no longer there, and neither was Leia. When he looked back, the chamber where Han was being tortured had also disappeared. He tried to locate his whereabouts, and the darkness that surrounded him was now a familiar one.

The darkness of outer space.

He stood on a thin platform, a gigantic viewport showing the blackness of the galaxy, painted by thousands of dots made from the light of the stars. And there, right in the middle of the scenery, was a planet. One planet only, whose bright colors were in contrast to the darkness that surrounded it. He had never seen the planet before; yet, it reminded him of home, or of what home would represent. 

It was a beautiful imagery; he could spend entire days simply consuming the scenery if only there wasn’t some macabre mechanical breathing coming from next to him.

Luke was scared to look to his side because he knew  _ who  _ he would find there. So, he looked at the vivid planet instead.

“You have brought this upon yourself,” the frightening voice spoke, but Luke didn’t know to whom he was speaking. “You could have saved your people had only you given the information we wanted.”

“You’re a monster,” a second voice spoke up, the voice that Luke immediately recognized as  _ his sister’s.  _

“Maybe I am,” Vader concurred, “But which is the greater evil, the monster that kills or the monster that allows an entire civilization to die instead of breaking her convictions?”

Luke gasped at how bluntly his father could accuse his sister of crimes that didn’t belong to her. For the first time, he realized he was profoundly connected to Leia’s subconscious amidst the Force, despite their ethereal bond having lost its strength, and he wondered whether he was living through moments that happened or were simply an augmentation of every burden in his and Leia’s mind.

Although — the situation he was currently going through belonged to his sister. It  _ had  _ to; he would never in his sane conscience blame her for Alderaan.

But he knew that she did and that she would never forgive herself for it.

“You will watch. You will not look away,” Vader said. “And you will hear them scream, and you will feel their despair in the Force. And you will relive this moment every time you close your eyes.”

“You’re a monster,” Leia said again, however now her voice had started to crack.

“Yes,” Vader agreed, “But so are you.”

Luke turned to face them, and he found Vader strongly holding her by her shoulder, keeping her posture intact, so strongly that it must have been bruising her — but Luke knew the physical pain didn’t even compare to what was about to happen. Leia’s face was built from grief and guilt, and he wanted nothing more than to throw his body in front of hers so she wouldn’t have to  _ watch _ .

If only he could rewrite the past. If only he could bring back Alderaan.

He would even content himself to do something as simple as carrying Leia’s burden for her — through that was impossible.

Meanwhile, Vader held her so tightly that it started to hurt his own shoulder.

Outside, darkness became an explosion of light, and Luke felt dizzy —  _ millions of voices crying out in horror and were suddenly silenced.  _ He couldn’t understand what Ben Kenobi had meant with those words, so crude he was with the Force back then, but now — it was overwhelming.

And Alderaan had never been his home. He couldn’t feel in the same depth that his sister did.

“You’re not a monster, Leia,” he said, Vader having suddenly disappeared and just he and his sister existed for the moment. Looking at each other’s faces and taking in all of each other’s pains.

“Maybe I am,” Leia replied, mimicking Vader’s words.

Luke sighed; he knew there was no point in trying to convince her when she had already set her mind strongly about something.

“I wonder why the Force brought me here,” he speculated, talking aloud rather than talking to her. “What it wanted me to  _ learn.  _ Because I — I don’t feel very well. Not with everything that I was shown.”

“They’re not supposed to make you feel good,” Leia said, and his sister suddenly became a different Leia all together. Looking at her, Luke thought her to be the personification of his subconscious. Because Leia was the wisest person he knew, and he always came to her in his times of need. It only made sense that the Force would guide him through the face of the person he trusted the most.

“I came here looking for Anakin,” Luke confessed, “Instead, I only found Vader. I’m well aware of everything that Vader has done, and I will always condone him for them. But I want to meet Anakin, so I can see the light on him.”

Leia gave him a face, and Luke shifted uncomfortably.

“Why are you looking at me like this?”

“Because, Luke,” Leia started, “Being aware of something and  _ accepting  _ it are on opposite sides of the spectrum.”

“I  _ have  _ accepted what Vader has done,” Luke protested, “Look at Padmé, at Han, at yourself. You all remind me of what he’s done every day.”

“No, Luke,” she said softly, “You recognize that Vader’s evil deeds have happened, but you still struggle to accept them. You struggle with what  _ your father  _ did to everybody else when he  _ saved you  _ in his final moments.”

“That was Anakin,” Luke corrected shyly, “Not Vader. Anakin came back to the light the moment he saved me.”

“He was still the man behind the mask.”

Luke lowered his gaze. “Vader has also hurt me, you know.”

“I know,” Leia said. “Your compassion has always been your greatest strength. Accepting the harms done against you is easy, they happened to you and you only. But knowing of the pain that Vader put your loved ones through while you couldn’t help them — that hurts infinitely worse.”

Anxiously, he clasped his hands together. “Is that my path, then? To accept my family’s pain and guide them towards their own acceptance?”

Leia merely shrugged. “Your path is for you to decide, and you only. Not me, not the Force.”

“You and the Force are part of me.”

“But we are not  _ you _ ,” Leia calmly explained. “You are responsible for your own choices. And if you make the wrong one and mess up, you will still have us for comfort. The same wouldn’t happen had  _ we  _ made your choices for you and you came to blame us for your undoings.”

“I would never blame you.”

Leia smiled condescendingly, and Luke sighed. 

“What do I do now?” Luke asked, even if already aware that he was supposed to find the answers by himself. Leia started to fade away in front of him, and he panicked. “Leia, what comes  _ now?” _

“Everything that comes next,” she said quietly, her ghostly body leaning forward and, with a gentle kiss to his forehead, she sent him home. 

* * *

Luke came back to his senses disoriented and despaired, and his immediate reaction was to violently twirl his body. 

“Is he here? Anakin, where is he?”

Padmé noticed with a scowl the rapid speed of his breathing and sudden drops of sweat surfacing his forehead. Dreading to see him like that, she gently brushed his skin until he attuned himself to his surroundings. 

“Luke. You’re okay.”

He sighed in relief upon the sight of hers, and just her. 

“It didn't work, did it,” he said softly, “He isn't here.”

Padmé smiled sadly, “You’re the Force sensitive one.”

“Right,” Luke remembered, a little embarrassed. He brought his hand to his temple, only then made aware of the sudden sensitivity coming from his head. “I wish Leia was here.”

Padmé frowned at the suddenness of his comment. “Did something happen, Luke? Did you see something?”

“No, I…” he stuttered, “I only saw things that have already happened. I think. Regarding Leia and Vader, mostly.”

Uncertainly, she nodded. “And you think that you need Leia to meditate with you if you’re to see Anakin again?”

“Maybe,” he agreed, but although it was a good argument, he wasn't thinking that. Mostly, he just wanted to see her and ask her how did she  _ accept  _ the things that had happened. 

Or if she accepted them at all. 

“Would you mind if I rested for a while?” Luke shyly asked. “I find myself not feeling very well.”

“Of course,” Padmé promptly said. “All the bedrooms have been cleaned up. Just pick whichever.”

With a bow and a kiss of gratitude, Luke left her all alone on the balcony. 

Later on, Padmé did not inform him that, much like his sister some time before, he had also unconsciously chosen the room that had once belonged to her and Anakin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaand i'll let you interpret luke's vision however you like (for the time being hehe)
> 
> feedback's appreciated :)


	37. Thirty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall ready to start giving some meaning to luke's visions? let's goooo

Padmé was busy, concentrated on her work in the tiny cubicle she got to call her office in the rebellion headquarters, going over a treaty that the New Republic was negotiating with the Rodians. She had once worked closely with some ingenious Rodians back in her days as a Senator, and they were now aiming to reestablish alliance with the Outer Rim world, so, naturally, she was the perfect person for the job.

She was focused, having been working on it for the past several hours, with no contact whatsoever with the external world. She had always had this ability to shut herself off to the world when she was busy with her politics to the point she would easily forget to eat and to drink — something that she terribly missed her handmaidens for, as they were always there to take care of her while she was busy taking care of the rest of the galaxy.

True to her nature, she would have gladly stayed there for the rest of the day, until Luke — very true to his  _ own  _ nature — would come to fetch her so they would have dinner together. However, they would not be having dinner that night. 

Later, when she would come to think about it, she doubted they would have a peaceful meal again any time so soon.

Padmé was so fixated on her reading that the abrupt swing open of the door was all it took for her to have her heart thundering in her chest. Turning around to find Luke’s despaired face traits did not help her heartbeat to calm in the slightest.

“What’s wrong, Luke?”

“Something bad happened,” he said, out of breath. Without asking for permission, he started messing with the papers over her desk, clearly looking for something. “I should have seen it coming. I should have  _ known  _ that it was bound to happen. The Force showed it to me but I was too blind to see it—”

“Luke,” Padmé commanded her voice so he would stop rambling and listen to her. He stopped talking, but he did not stop fumbling around. “Take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on.”

He snapped his fingers several times, trying to think of the words that his brain refused to offer him. 

“Luke,” she called his name once again. He seemed physically alright, so that was something  _ less  _ that might be wrong in her very long list of things that might be wrong. “Where is your sister, Luke?”

“Hm? Leia?” that seemed to have brought him back to himself, something to hold himself to. “She’s at the Senate. Do you have a holocaster?”

Padmé silently pointed to a side table in the corner of the room where the holocaster was placed. Luke hurried towards it and flicked through channels until he found the one disturbing him the most, and stepped aside so Padmé could watch it for herself and understand the gravity of the situation.

She frowned when she saw the image of an Imperial officer there; a high-ranking one, given his insignia. Of course, his simple image there was enough indicator of trouble, but Padmé only came to understand how bad it was when words started pouring out from his lips.

_ “Today, we watch the Rebellion attempt to build their sick excuse of a New Republic, a new order built from chaos and anarchy. The people responsible for the death of our Emperor and his second hand, Darth Vader, should not be granted the right to govern. For all, they are terrorists, traitors of the Galactic Empire. These are not the people you will want to rule your life. _

_ “How can you trust the leaders that have claimed power for themselves by shedding blood, when the Empire has done everything in its power to keep you safe? How can you trust the so-called heroes that would kill every galactic leader in order to achieve power for themselves? How can you trust the princess, the face of your new world order, that stood and cheered next to Lord Vader as her homeworld was destroyed? _

_ “Alderaan was no mistake, and Princess Leia knew as much when she didn’t do anything to save her people, instead watched peacefully inside the Death Star the fate of her homeworld. And now, she poses as the hero of the New Republic, when nobody was more complicit in the destruction of her homeworld than herself. If she could stand by and salute as we obliterated her people, nothing is stopping her from betraying every citizen of  _ her  _ New Republic to achieve further power and glory for herself. _

_ “Do not fool yourselves into believing her martyrdom act. Fight for your voice and end this New Republic, born from corruption ever since its first day. _

_ “Long live the Empire!” _

The transmission started over again, but Luke was quick to turn off the device; hearing it once was already enough. He searched for Padmé’s expression and found her face a mixture of whiteness and blank, her eyes still fixated at the hologram that was no more.

He couldn’t blame her. When a rogue fighter had come to him with the transmission and he first watched it, he had reacted just as badly.

“Is it just me or did they just accuse Leia of blowing up Alderaan?”

Her brain was glitching; of course it was, there was no other explanation for her brain’s delay to fully grasp the meaning behind the Empire’s message. Well, maybe old age, but she didn’t think she was there yet. She brought her hand to her forehead, feeling a headache lurking in the back of her head.

“Luke, this isn’t good.”

Politically, she saw it as the Empire’s last attempt at shattering the New Republic when the latter was already on its way and the former struggling to make a stance. Politically, she wouldn’t worry about the transmission; it was the act of a desperate man, a man still fighting the war that had ended the moment Palpatine and Vader had lost their lives. Personally, however, she worried; she worried for Leia.

Ever since Padmé first arrived, there was only one thing she could see clearly about the princess — the immeasurable grief and burden she carried for the death of her planet. There was no point in trying to tell her she wasn’t responsible for it, although they had always tried, but having somebody blame her for it — even if just a lowlife imperial — would crystallize every guilt that Leia still carried within herself. 

Padmé closed her eyes; and here she was, thinking they were past all their turmoils.

“Luke,” she called for him, taking a deep breath to focus on one thing at a time. “Where is Han?”

“In the Outer Rim,” Luke replied sorrowfully. “He’s meeting a contact there, isn’t expected to come back until the end of the week.”

“He would come back for Leia, though.”

“In a heartbeat,” he agreed. “He isn’t very good at keeping up with the news, though.”

Padmé sighed; of course this all had to go down the moment Han Solo had taken a trip off-world. “We could contact him. He  _ needs  _ to be here.”

“We could try,” he said, “I’m pretty sure he’s gone radio silent in order not to attract any imperial attention.”

“Of course,” Padmé silently damned it. “Have you heard from Leia?”

“I tried to comm her the moment I saw —  _ that _ ,” he vaguely pointed towards the holocaster, “She either didn’t see it or ignored me. Probably the latter.”

She nodded — knowing Leia and how attached she was to her comm for professional reasons while also keeping everyone at an arm’s length when it came to her emotional state, it was  _ definitely  _ the latter.

“Luke… This isn’t good.”

“No,” Luke said, “Leia — might just believe them. She already  _ did  _ long before this — this  _ jackass  _ decided to say these things about her.”

Amidst everything, Padmé suddenly fought the urge to laugh at Luke’s attempt at name-calling the imperial officer; after all, she had a far greater list of names to call the man that was coming after her daughter, and she might even share them with Luke as the day went by.

“They’re trying to discredit her,” Padmé said, holding her composure. “It’s their final attempt at demolishing everything that you fought for. Leia has made herself the face of the rebellion ever since they took Alderaan from her, and now, given her diplomatic and political skills, of course she will be at the center of rebuilding the New Republic. The imperials know that their only chance of disparaging the New Republic is from accusing the ones in the midst of it.”

Luke leaned against her desk, his arms crossed uncomfortably across his chest. “You’re also an astute politician. Do you think people will… will believe them? Will they believe the accusations?”

Padmé grit her teeth; it was never easy to predict the beliefs of the general public.

“There are many Empire sympathizers still out there,” she said, “But… There are a lot of supporters of the New Republic as well. And there are even more people who  _ still  _ haven’t made up their minds. Mostly, and I honestly can’t tell if for best or for worst — it all falls on Leia’s hands now. On how she deals with damage control.”

Luke scowled; he had no idea how Leia would make things easier for the New Republic when  _ she  _ believed in everything that had been said about her.

“Padmé, how will she go out there and convince the galaxy she isn’t responsible for the disaster when she can’t even convince  _ herself  _ of that?”

She gently rubbed her forehead; her headache was already starting to kick in.

“I don’t know, Luke,” she confessed. “I don’t know how to help her when  _ she  _ doesn’t want to be helped. Not regarding this. Not when she’s determined to carry this burden to her grave.”

“But we  _ have  _ to do something, mother,” Luke demanded.

Padmé nodded; she  _ knew  _ that, just as she knew it wouldn’t be easy.

“What did you mean, you were supposed to see this coming?”

Luke loudly exhaled, and for his facial expression, Padmé would have guessed they were  _ sharing  _ a headache. “The other day, when I was meditating with you — the Force was trying to show  _ this  _ to me. I saw Alderaan’s destruction, I stood by Leia’s  _ side  _ as Vader called her a monster for allowing this to happen to her people. The Force was trying to warn me, but I was too blind to see it.”

Padmé scowled; that vision — certainly mustn’t have been pleasant.

“Well… Could you have prevented it?”

“No, but—”

“Then we can’t waste time thinking of what could have been,” Padmé gently told him.

He sighed. “I could — have  _ alerted  _ Leia. Help her prepare herself for the blow.”

“Luke, she would have felt the blow nonetheless,” she said. “She  _ has  _ been feeling it ever since the disaster happened. She’s just too good at hiding away the pain from the impact.”

“This is different, Padmé,” Luke insisted. “Blaming yourself for something and having  _ others  _ blame you hit differently. Nobody has ever stopped her and told her directly that she killed Alderaan. It doesn’t matter that she might already believe it, this will affect her as hard as watching Alderaan become dust.”

“It will,” Padmé concurred simply. 

“So — what do we do?”

“We are there for her,” she said, “And we tell her over and over again that she isn’t responsible. If we tell her that enough times,  _ maybe  _ she will listen.”

* * *

When Leia woke up that morning, alone in her small private bunk at the rebellion headquarters, there was a funny feeling tingling down her spine. 

Skeptical to the core, she ignored the things she couldn’t explain, and started off her day as normally as she would. Even if that feeling left her side, and it made it hard for her to think of anything other than — what was happening to her?

Regardless — Leia Organa was still a princess, a diplomat. She was conditioned to keep her composure and hold her head high to the exterior world despite the inner turmoils happening within her. Even if that earned her title of the  _ Ice Princess  _ to the foreign eyes, she would always carry her duty above anything else.

No matter how hard it was, no matter the days her grief was so loud she could barely breathe, or the days the things that had happened during the civil war hurt so badly she couldn’t think of anything else.

Anthropologically speaking, she was always destined to move forward, despite the aches of the past. Politically speaking, her duty determined she never looked back.

She would  _ thrive  _ like she always had.

Leia ignored that sixth sense as she carried out her day. Even if it made her feet incessantly tap against the floor as she tried to work, if it caused her to lose her appetite around lunch. if it made her acutely aware of her surroundings to the point she could barely focus on anything else, so ready she was for any potential danger to come.

Then, it all made sense when the holocaster in her office blinked and she turned it on to see whatever had happened now. The tingling in the back of her head tried to numb her every emotion as she listened carefully to an imperial officer’s message, yet, it still screamed at her —  _ something bad was going to happen. _

She listened, and she was prepared for whatever attempt at degrading the New Republic they would try now. She was a  _ diplomat,  _ she had been raised to keep her composure in the face of crisis and logically come to a solution with the least amount of casualties. Whatever the remaining of the Empire would throw at them, she could deal with it; she had already handled the crudest things that the Empire had to offer, so this would be nothing compared to the war.

If that was true, then why did she suddenly feel her knees weak underneath her? If any of that was true, then why had she crumbled to the floor in despair?

_ The Princess that had stood and cheered next to Lord Vader as her homeworld was destroyed. _

Her lower lip started to tremble; she had lost complete control of her senses and emotions. Her fingers dug deeply to the carpet underneath her as she desperately tried to hold herself to something tangible, to detach herself from the perpetual prison of her grief. She did not have the right to grief when she had been responsible for Alderaan’s fate; she did not get to shed a single tear for her home when she was to blame for its loss.

Her parents would be so disappointed. From all the babies in the galaxy, they had chosen  _ her  _ and she had destroyed their legacy.

She had destroyed everything. Even though she hadn’t cheered, she had stood next to Vader and she had done  _ nothing  _ to stop Tarkin’s barbarous deed.

_ Princess Leia didn’t do anything to save her people. _

Her breathing became erratic, and she breathed in broken oxygen. Her eyes were burning and she would like to scream. Maybe, if she screamed, she would relieve some of the weight crushing her. Or maybe, it would be for nothing. The weight of Alderaan would always be on her shoulders, she would carry that cross for the rest of her life.

She didn’t get to whine or complain about that. Not when she had killed Alderaan.

_ Nobody was more complicit in the destruction of her homeworld than herself. _

Drops of sweat emerged across her forehead, a hot flush taking over her. Her chest felt tight and heavy, and she started to hyperventilate in her selfish attempts of staying  _ alive.  _ It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t fair that she had lived when she had condoned every Alderaanian to their death. She shouldn’t have survived, she shouldn’t have to carry the weight of a dead civilization while trying to keep its culture and traditions alive—

Not when she wanted to crumble down and feel every jab of hurting and grief that echoed with her every heartbeat.

So, at that moment — she felt, and just that.

The imperial message replayed over and over again, each time perpetuating the words of guilt and blame deeper into her core.

* * *

Having served both at Galactic Senate and the Imperial Senate, Mon Mothma was far too used to chaos and desperate measures at the face of certain doom.

Being a Senator under the Empire’s ruling, Mon Mothma had seen far too many times inhumanities happen inside the Senate, even, while she was struck with the impotence of doing nothing. Forced to watch and refrain herself from acting as a less fortunate people suffered the consequences of fascism. All things considered, she had learned to live alongside ruthless atrocities, while keeping her head high and pretending they did not  _ bother  _ her so the Empire wouldn’t start suspecting her as well.

Those were the very aspects of the Empire that she and her peers were working hard to extinguish in the New Republic. The new galaxy order was supposed to be welcoming to all, free of any sort of bigotry — theoretically, of course. Mon Mothma understood very well that it would be impossible to eliminate all the hatred spread across the galaxy overnight.

Still, when she saw manifestations of cruelty and just plain inhumanity before her eyes, she thought it further and further away the day that they would get to fully reestablish peace across the galaxy.

Mon Mothma was having a meeting with the Ambassador from Ryloth when her assistant called for her, telling her of matters that could not be postponed or delegated, forcing the senator from Chandrila to end her meeting shorter and excuse herself. She had noticed the terrified expression stamped across her assistant’s face, but chose to ignore it — after all, the girl was most inexperienced in the political world, and matters that seemed like the end of the world for her might be no different than an ordinary day in Mon's life.

It wasn’t until she found herself back in the privacy of her office, watching yet another inhumane message from the Empire that no longer stood, that Mothma felt herself drifting further away from peaceful democracy.

The message started over, but she had turned her brain off to its sound. Instead, her mind rested with the strongest woman she had ever known — the woman whose figure the Empire was trying to break.

“How long ago was this broadcasted?” she asked her assistant, turning her head in the slightest but not establishing eye contact.

“Just over an hour ago, ma’am,” the assistant named Marlow replied.

She nodded discreetly — one hour was all it took for chaos to unfold.

“Has Princess Leia tried to contact us?”

“No, ma’am,” she said, “Nobody has seen the Princess ever since — it was broadcasted.”

Taking one deep breath, Mon Mothma finally forced herself out of her haze.

“Cancel all my appointments for the day,” she demanded, raising herself from her chair. “Marlow, unless another Death Star is hovering Coruscant — do not contact me. You understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Marlow assented, watching as her boss rushed towards the door. “Ma’am?”

Mothma turned her head back to the girl. “What is it, Marlow?”

“Is it… Is it true?” she faltered, “What they said — about her.”

Mon grimaced.

“You’ve met Princess Leia, Marlow,” she gently scolded her, “What is the impression you have of her?”

Marlow shifted uncomfortably. “That she is a very strong and fierce leader. One that doesn’t stand down in the face of oppression.”

Mothma bowed. “You know her personally, Marlow. The rest of the galaxy doesn’t. When asked, your opinion of her matters the most, and I hope you’ll repay the kindness that she has always shown you.”

Not waiting for an answer, Mon Mothma left.

* * *

Working behind the safety of the Senate and behind the war lines, Mon Mothma saw inhumanities happening right before her, but she always remained distant, and she  _ never  _ witnessed beforehand the damage that said inhumanities did to those involved.

Until she walked into Leia’s office without announcing herself and found the princess fallen to the floor, sitting uncomfortably over her legs with her head bowed down.

The imperial officer’s message replayed in a loop in the background — she was  _ torturing  _ herself with his words; her own penitence for what she believed she had done to Alderaan.

Mon walked straight to the holocaster and turned it off, the silence that followed just as uncomfortable. With a better view of the princess now, Mothma noticed the wet trails down her cheeks, the redness of her eyes, the tension of her body.

“Leia,” she gently called for her, extending her hand, “Get up.”

She didn’t intend to sound rude or inconsiderate, but rare had been the times she had seen the princess dismantled — Leia didn’t enjoy breaking down in public, that much was clear. So, the best course of action would be to offer something concrete to hold onto, something far away from the dangers of her own mind.

Or so Mon Mothma believed.

Leia, however, remained unresponsive. She hadn’t even acknowledged her mentor’s presence next to her. 

“Leia,” she tried again, “The Empire is full of shit. Don’t listen to them, don’t give them what they  _ want _ .”

Leia remained still.

Sighing discreetly, Mon Mothma crouched down to be at her same level.

“Leia, as much I’d love to have this conversation here on the floor, I’m afraid my back wouldn’t forgive me for the next three weeks.”

Mon Mothma couldn’t tell whether her physical presence closer to Leia or her poor attempt at humor had done the trick, but it had  _ worked.  _ She smiled faintly as Leia, at last, seemed to notice her there, who raised her head in the slightest towards her.

“What…?”

Once again, Mon offered her hand, and although Leia stared at it suspiciously for several moments to come, eventually, she accepted it.

“Let’s get you home, Leia,” Mon said, helping her up. She noticed the unsteadiness of her limbs but didn’t comment on it.

“I don’t have a home.”

Mon Mothma did not know to respond to that without sound condescending. So, she didn’t.

“Let’s get you seated, then,” she said, guiding towards the couch where Leia collapsed with a thud. Without the class and elegance a princess should bear despite any bad circumstances.

She fell down and buried her face in her hands, trying to both contain her emotions and hide the physical mess that she had become from her mentor. Hesitantly, Mon sat down next to her.

“What happened to Alderaan, Leia, was not your fault.”

For a while, only the sound of Leia’s unsteady breathing could be heard.

“You weren’t aboard the Death Star.”

“You speak as if you were there willingly,” Mon’s voice was firm. “You’re right, I wasn’t aboard the Death Star, I can’t speak for the horrors that you were forced to endure there.  _ Horrors,  _ Leia. You did not ask for them.”

“All I had to do was talk,” Leia whispered, “If only I had talked—”

“Then what, they would have killed you?” Mon provoked. “I’ve known you ever since Bail brought you home, you were your parents’ whole world. They would have been  _ devastated  _ to have their greatest joy sent home to them in a coffin.”

“The Empire wouldn’t be stupid to send my body back to Alderaan. They would throw me into space before they admitted to killing me.”

And that was when Mon Mothma knew Leia wasn’t listening; her mind was barely there, and there was no point in trying to talk her through everything that had happened when there would be no result.

“I should be dead.”

Mothma frowned; that statement worried her.

“Leia—”

“I was scheduled for execution,” Leia spoke aggressively, at last lowering her hands from her face. “They were going to  _ kill me.  _ I wasn’t supposed to have lived, my fate should have always been the same as Alderaan’s.”

“Do you honestly believe that would have made it any easier?” Mon incited. “Yes, you would have been dead, you wouldn’t have to live with this pain for the rest of your life. But, had you died, what would have happened to Alderaan?”

Leia snapped her neck towards Mon in anger.

“Alderaan is  _ dead,  _ Mon,” she said, enraged, “Alderaan would have remained space dust. Alderaan will  _ always  _ be space dust, for the rest of eternity.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Leia,” unlike the princess, Mon held to her calm. She reached out for Leia’s hand and guided it towards her chest. “Alderaan lives  _ in  _ you. Alderaan lives through you.”

Leia sniffed, her long blinks enough of an indicator of how badly she was trying to hold it together. “Alderaan is gone. Nothing I do will ever bring it back.”

“The physical concept of Alderaan is gone, and no, you can’t ever bring it back,” Mon reasoned. “However, it is still your responsibility to carry Alderaan’s legacy. Your traditions, your culture, your philosophy — if you’re not here to hold these ideals, then Alderaan will cease for good.”

Once again, she buried her face in her hands. “How can I be a good leader for my people when  _ I’m  _ the reason they can never go home again?!”

Mon placed her hand delicately on Leia’s back. “I will tell you this as many times I need until you listen to me, but, Leia — you’re not responsible for what happened to Alderaan.”

Leia sniffed, her gaze lost ahead of her. “You  _ heard  _ what they said—”

“All lies brought by the small-minded men destined to undermine everything that you achieved for this galaxy,” she informed, “They want to bring you down, but you cannot allow them to succeed, Leia. Otherwise,  _ you  _ won’t get to see come through what  _ you  _ achieved.”

Leia bit down on her lower lip.

“The only thing you’re responsible for, Leia, is restoring peace back to the galaxy,” Mon said, “They tried to take everything from you, but they couldn’t take away your heart or your light. You responded to their evil with your perseverance, and now the galaxy will always be in your debt.”

She shook her head vigorously.

“I  _ don’t  _ want to be a hero,” she declared, breathlessly. “I carried on the fight because it was what my father raised me for all my life, because it's always been my  _ duty.  _ I could not give up when Alderaan paid the ultimate price, but — I don’t want to be a hero. I just want to go  _ home. _ ”

Mon ran her hand up and down Leia’s back in small attempts of comfort.

“You cannot go back to your home, but that doesn’t mean you can’t build a new home for yourself,” Mon instructed. “You’ve built yourself a new family with the people you met along the way, and  _ that’s  _ the beauty of life, Leia. You get to have more than a home.”

Leia sniffed again, it being harder to breathe by the second. 

“I’ve watched you grow ever since the battle of Yavin,” she continued, “You were so shut off to the rest of the world, even though you kept your head high. Above all, you had closed your heart from anyone who dared to come in your way. Seeing you slowly lower the walls you’ve built around yourself and eventually allow love to find you again made me so happy, because  _ you  _ from all people deserve to have happiness in your life. Do not let them take away your happiness again.”

Leia wrapped her arms around herself, feeling very small under the scrutiny of Mon Mothma’s eyes. 

“It is hard to be happy when I’m sad most of the time,” Leia confessed in a small voice. “I don’t think I’m deserving of being happy again.”

Mon sighed, although she appreciated how the princess was, at last, speaking up about her inner struggles. “Alderaan would want you to be happy again, Leia.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” she insisted, “You’re not the only Alderaanian that survived, and I can tell with conviction that, from all the other Alderaanians I’ve met along the way, there isn’t a single one of them that doesn’t love you, or admire you for everything you’ve done. They  _ want  _ you to be happy again, Leia, but they also need you to. If they can see you achieve a happy life again, they’ll find their paths in the light as well.”

Leia swallowed uncomfortably. “So you’re saying I should be happy for them.”

“No, you should be happy for  _ yourself _ ,” Mon debunked, “But if being happy for them is the only way you’ll learn how to be happy again, then you must find your way to be happy in their name.”

Leia blinked away her tears.

“There are thousands of Alderaanians still alive across the galaxy,” Mon Mothma said, “ _ They  _ never raised their voice to fault you for what happened to your home. Only the Empire did, and after everything we’ve gone through, I believe you know better than to listen to anything that the Empire might have to offer.”

“Is it really listening to them,” Leia dared, “If they were only reiterating the words inside my head?”

Knowing that they were talking in circles, Mon Mothma decided on a new approach.

“Your parents would never blame you for what happened.”

Leia immediately brought her hands to her mouth, trying to contain the choking sound that the simple assertion caused her.

“Please don’t go there.”

“I must go there, Leia, because that’s the only way you’ll  _ listen _ ,” Mon Mothma alleged. “Your parents knew the risks they were taking the moment they started the rebellion. They knew that, if the Empire learned of their involvement in the rebellion, they would pay the ultimate price, but they were  _ ready  _ to defy the chances in the name of the greater good. They always wanted the galaxy to experience the same standards of art and beauty that Alderaan held. That’s why the Empire destroyed Alderaan, Leia, not because of you. Because evil and hatred cannot stand to see beauty thrive.”

“I cannot accept that,” Leia argued, her voice faltering. “My parents knew the risks, yes, but they always did  _ everything  _ in their power to protect Alderaan, to hide their involvement in the rebellion. Then,  _ I  _ get caught. Not them. I was the rebellious princess,  _ I  _ put Alderaan through the magnifying glass, not my parents.”

Mon Mothma shook her head. “I know for a fact that you’re smarter than that. I have  _ taught  _ you to be smarter than that.”

Leia sighed in defiance, but her defiance disappeared too soon. She pulled her legs up the couch and embraced them.

“I can’t stop thinking,” she started with a hoarse voice, “Of all the orphan babies, my father had to bring home the one that would bring him doom.”

“Your father wouldn’t blame you,” Mon Mothma said once more. “Your father was the  _ proudest  _ man whenever he spoke of you.”

“His pride took him to his grave.”

“I still remember the last time I saw your father so clearly,” Mon ignored Leia’s comment. “It was a few days before the battle of the Yavin, we were still struggling as to how we would obtain the Death Star plans, if we would obtain them at all — until a very brave squadron ignored our orders of not going after the plans and sacrificed themselves for the cause. We couldn’t let them lose their lives in vain, and we  _ needed  _ someone we could trust to retrieve the plans and go after General Kenobi in Tatooine. I couldn’t think of a single person in the rebellion whom I could unconditionally trust for such an important mission, but your father… He smiled at me, that smug and infuriating smile of his, and he said — he would trust  _ you  _ with his life.”

This time, there was no containing the stream of tears descending her cheeks. She turned to the older woman and at last allowed herself to be seen.

“How is that supposed to make it any better — he trusted me with his life, and I took his life from him, from my mother, from Alderaan.”

“Leia, you’re not listening to me.”

“Yes, I am! You’re only corroborating what I already  _ know _ , what the imperials are determined to tell the rest of the galaxy. He made the mistake of his  _ life  _ when he decided to trust me and send me for Tatooine.”

Mon exhaled profoundly as Leia broke eye contact again.

“I can’t talk to you when you’re in this mindset.”

“Fine. Then leave, I don’t care. The door is right there,” Leia pointed angrily, and whispered the next sentence for herself only, “I’m far too used to the people I know leaving me behind.”

If Mon Mothma heard her last comment, Leia would never know.

“I won’t leave you, Leia,” she said, “I promised your father I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know what’s that supposed to mean,” Leia muttered, already having lost all the fire inside of her.

“It  _ means  _ that, ever since your father helped us found the rebellion, he was well aware that he might not make it out alive,” Mon commanded the room with her strong voice. “He didn’t fear death, however — he feared leaving you behind. You were his pride and joy, and the mere idea of seeing you hurt brought him to his knees. Still, he knew he couldn’t give up the cause because he  _ was  _ fighting so you would have a chance of having a better life. But the risks on his life were always there, there was always the chance that, one day, he might not make it back home. I had never seen your father so vulnerable until the day he asked me to look after you, should anything happen to him.”

Just like that, oxygen was stolen from Leia’s lungs.

“It’s not — he didn’t think you were incapable of looking after yourself. No, you were always the strongest little girl under his eyes. Still, he would like someone to care for you, even from the distance. Because he  _ knew  _ you, Leia, and he knew how prone you were to take the weight of the world onto you. He only ever wanted you to be happy, but he knew that his death would take a ton out of you, and Bail always struggled to let you go, even as you grew up into a remarkable woman. Bail would be very proud of whom you’ve become, Leia, but he would also have been heartbroken to see you blame yourself for things you weren’t responsible for.”

Leia found her hands trembling and clasped them together to try and make them stop.

“On my father’s behalf, I release you from your debt,” she tried to make her voice steady, “You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

“Don’t I?” Mon provoked. 

“No,” Leia answered gravely. “I will be fine. I just have to — ride this out.”

Mon chuckled sadly.

“You’re always fine, aren’t you?” she asked. “There’s nothing wrong in admitting defeat once in a while, you know.”

“Yes, there is,” she refuted. “I can’t  _ ever  _ admit defeat. I owe Alderaan this much.”

“It isn’t supposed to be so black and white.”

“Yet, it still is.”

Mon gently squeezed Leia’s shoulder, feeling her shiver underneath.

“I can’t be the one to guide you through your grief and help you understand that the past was and still is out of your control, and you’re not the one to blame for every misdeed that has happened,” she reasoned. “I can’t be the one, nor Padmé, nor Han, nor Luke. Only you can do it, Leia.”

“And if I don’t?” Leia dared, “And if I  _ can’t _ ?”

“Then I think it would be a very sad way of living,” Mon Mothma patronized, “However, it’s still your life, and you’re entitled to live it as you wish.”

Leia pulled her back straight, the veil of the ice princess falling over her once more, like Mothma’s words had just reminded her of who she was, and that she still had a duty to fulfill.

“We need to hold a press conference, so I can address both the galaxy and my people,” she said coldly, her face devoid of expression, her eyes devoid of  _ life.  _ Erasing the past emotional minutes from existence. “This doesn’t affect only the Alderaanians, but the New Republic as well.”

Mon Mothma pulled her hand back to herself, understanding that Leia was no longer there, only the diplomatic princess. “I will make the necessary arrangements. Tomorrow, when you’re in a better mindset.”

Facing ahead, Leia nodded.

“I need a speech, refuting their propaganda,” she continued, and Mothma felt a bit of disappointment hearing Leia’s choice of vocables — she wanted to refute Imperial propaganda, not the atrocities that had been said about her. “I confess not being in a good place to write my own speech.”

“I will write something for you,” Mon stated, “I don’t want you to worry about it.”

“I won’t,” Leia muffed softly; after all, she still trusted Mon Mothma unconditionally, and that her mentor would only do what was best for the people of the New Republic —  _ even  _ if it resorted to writing a narrative that Leia didn’t personally agree with.

Likewise — Leia was still a princess. She understood very well that what she  _ felt  _ didn’t concern the public, she was only under the obligation of doing what was best for them. 

“Do me a favor and do not listen to the broadcast again,” Mon asked of her. “I don’t care if you agree with what they claim — it’ll only degrade your mental health, and I need you to be up on your feet tomorrow.”

“I will not let you down,” she promised. “I’m aware of my duty, I will present myself steady tomorrow.”

Mon Mothma compressed her lips in a thin line — sometimes, all she wished was that her old friend’s daughter didn’t try so hard to remain steady on all occasions.

Unfortunately, she did not have the chance to address her concerns as the door to Leia’s office hissed opened, giving way to another concerned mind.

Padmé rushed towards the couch where the two women were seated, regardless of a lack of invitation, and sat over the arm, next to Leia. She noticed how tense Leia resembled to be, with her back straight and her arms rigid to her sides, but she couldn’t understand why her face was so — blank.

Had Leia suddenly regressed back inside the walls she had so meticulously built around herself?

Forgetting all about Leia’s disdain for unasked physical touch, Padmé placed her hand on her shoulder.

“What they said, Leia — it isn’t true.”

Leia breathed in a long breath, trying her best not to lose it at either woman.

“The Empire is in shambles, and they’re desperately trying to make their stand,” Padmé continued, gently offering rubs to Leia’s back. “And in their despair, they let out the monster that they are come out, aiming to hurt as many people in their attempts to survive. I know that what they’ve said — is  _ cruel,  _ and it’s something you’ve struggled with for years now. However, that sort of judgment can’t come from  _ them _ , but from your people only. If your people don’t hold you at fault for what the Empire’s done, then the Empire doesn’t have the right to, either.”

Mon Mothma listened to her old friend speak with interest;  _ maybe  _ Leia would listen to her.

Instead—

“Fuck it,” Leia mumbled underneath her breath, mercilessly getting up and walking away without giving them a second glance.

Padmé’s jaw dropped in confusion as she stood there, her hand still hanging in the air as if Leia’s ghost was still there.

Mon Mothma sighed.

“It’s not  _ you _ ,” Mon said, leaning back on the couch. “Or — maybe it is. Unfortunately, you are a living reminder of the parents that she lost, and your presence will always clash with their loss, at least until she learns how to cope with her grief.”

Padmé’s eyes were glued to the door where Leia had come out through, almost expecting she would come back any time now.

“I — Did you talk to her?”

Mon hummed in acknowledgment. “I’m not sure our conversation went anywhere, though. It’s hard to talk when one refuses to listen.”

Padmé nodded. 

“I used to think that her grief was healthy,” Padmé admitted. “She’s lost her whole world, the Empire made her  _ watch  _ as they destroyed everything she’d had ever known, Mon, of course she’s entitled to her grief. However, the longer I’m here, the more I start to realize — her grief  _ is  _ unhealthy, and it borders on affecting badly on her well-being, if it hasn’t already.”

Mon bowed her head in sad agreement.

Padmé, at last, turned her eyes toward Mon Mothma. “Unfortunately, there’s little I can do when I’m in the personification of all she’s lost.”

“She needs to learn how to cope with her losses on her own,” Mon argued. “Getting better — it needs to come from her own volition.”

Padmé rubbed her temples tiredly. “I fear that she might be so settled into this person she has become that she might dread coming out of her cocoon.”

“Speak from experience?”

“I wish I wasn’t,” Padmé sighed.

“Well,” Mon prompted, “How did you make it out?”

“I realized I was hurting myself more than my actual losses did,” she confessed.

“Tell her that,” she said. “Maybe, she’ll listen.”

Pressing her lips together, Padmé prayed that she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo, i've had this storyline planned ever since i first started writing this fic, and finally, 290k words into the story, we reach it !! if you follow me on twitter, you probably know that I call myself the _ceo of alderaan_ , so I really do like this particular story arc. after all, it is time we do something about leia's grief and burden for what happened to her homeworld, huh?
> 
> anyway, leave me comments <3


	38. Thirty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i confess there's a cameo in this chapter that made me SOB as I wrote it. please let me know if it'll make you shed a tear or two too

Padmé knocked on Leia’s chamber, not truly expecting Leia to come out.

When Leia did, it was clear from her expression that she expected it to be somebody else other than Padmé. Probably Han, Padmé assumed, even though he was thousands of solar systems away.

Leia looked exhausted, and Padmé genuinely felt for the princess. 

With a deep sigh, Leia rested her head against the door frame. “What do you want, Padmé?”

“You stormed out of the Senate, I didn’t see you again,” Padmé elaborated, trying to study her daughter’s facial traits despite the penumbra coming from inside the chamber. She had just showered, and her moist hair was falling over her shoulder; she had taken off her makeup, and Padmé was looking at her in her crudest form, with her reddened cheeks and dark circles under her eyes — somehow, it looked like the princess had aged years in a single day.

Either that or she was really good at hiding her true self from the world.

“Anyway, I was worried for your wellbeing, so I came to check on you,” Padmé continued after her first comment had only been met with complete silence. “I hope I’m not bothering you?”

As soon as her words escaped her lips, Padmé worried that Leia would tell her face that she was, indeed, a bother.

Surprisingly, she didn’t. But what she replied wasn’t that better off, either.

“I just want to sleep.”

Padmé’s heart thundered inside of her as she couldn’t tell what Leia had _meant_ with such an affirmation.

Apparently — and to Padmé’s relief — the implication went over Leia’s head.

“I appreciate your concern, and your stopping by,” Leia said, “But, really, you don’t have to worry. I will most likely go to bed in a while.”

Still, Padmé wasn’t one to easily cave in.

“I was just thinking, with everything that you said about your reluctance to be alone when Han’s away, that I could keep you company for a while,” Padmé suggested. “Especially — after everything that’s happened today.”

Leia closed her eyes. “As I said, you don’t have anything to concern yourself with. I’m fine.”

“I hear you — you being fine, and everything,” Padmé said, although she didn’t exactly believe Leia’s act. “Still. I don’t think there’s any harm in me being here for a few minutes.”

Grunting, Leia pulled herself back inside. “Whatever.”

All things considered — Padmé accepted that as permission to go in.

Closing the door behind her, Padmé stepped inside the princess’ private bunk for the first time. It was larger than the average personnel rooms, and from the dim light coming from a bedside lamp she noticed how _personal_ Leia had tried to make her _home_ — she was even growing a plant? Padmé would have never expected it. She smiled sadly at that; all those little signs that Leia was so desperately trying to make a new home for herself. 

Padmé looked for Leia, finding her sitting by a vanity with a comb in her hand. Her eyes were fixated on the mirror, but she wasn’t looking at her reflection — it appeared she wasn’t looking anywhere at all. Her hands worked idly on the knots of her hair, so leisurely it didn’t seem she was putting any effort into it. Her mind certainly resided elsewhere.

“Can I help you with that?” Padmé asked, standing where Leia could see her from the mirror.

“Hm? No, you wouldn’t know how to.”

Padmé simply bowed, although that wasn’t exactly true. She had looked it up, coming to learn the story behind hair braids on Alderaan, and how sacred they were. Women, especially aristocrats, always wore braids in public, out of respect for tradition. She came to understand how intimate it was for someone to take down their lover’s braid, and that women revered their bond when crafting each other’s braids.

It was a beautiful tradition, it would seem, one that Leia was determined to follow.

Until traditions started to weigh too much even on the most resilient souls. Leia dropped the comb over the vanity and placed her head on the palm of her hands.

Padmé waited a minute or so, standing silently on the back as she expected Leia would recompose herself — after all, rare were the occasions that the princess had willingly shown weakness. When she remained still, Padmé braced herself and paced towards her.

“Here, let me,” she quietly announced herself behind Leia, retrieving the comb from the vanity. 

Leia sniffed but didn’t offer any words or gestures of defiance, so Padmé gently started to brush her hair.

“Braids, yeah?” Padmé asked for confirmation, even if she already knew. However, Leia remained unresponsive. “I was thinking something simple, like a loose plait. So you won’t have a headache, and it won’t bother you as you sleep.”

Once again, she was met with silence. Padmé decided to follow through with the loose braid anyway, tenderly tending to Leia’s hair — picturing herself doing it to a child that she got to call her own.

She divided Leia’s hair in half, setting each part over the princess’ shoulders to make it easier to comb. Her fingertips accidentally brushed the skin of the back of her neck, and that was when she noticed the lumpy tissue of scars there.

Looking down, she saw the red lines that went across all her neck; scars that had never truly healed. Delicately, she brushed her thumbs over them, and although she doubted they still hurt, Leia shivered.

“That’s a nasty scar,” Padmé commented simply, wondering if she wanted to know the story behind them and if Leia would even tell her. Dreading to make her feel cornered, she picked up the comb and started to brush her hair.

“Yeah,” Leia said simply, but enough to let Padmé know that the conversation would die there.

Padmé sighed.

“There’s nothing wrong allowing yourself to feel, Leia,” Padmé started, kindly working through her hair knots. “I know that, as somebody in a position of power, you mustn’t show emotions to those you lead, but that only goes so far. You’re supposed to be their strength, yes, but you’re not intended to carry their burden as well as yours. You’re allowed to lower your defenses when you’re away from the public eye, you’re _supposed_ to. You can’t expect yourself to be strong all the time, not… when being _strong_ makes you — weak.”

In response, only an unsteady exhale.

“You know, I was a really close friend of your father’s, even closer than I was to Mon Mothma,” Padmé continued; she didn’t care if she was holding a monologue, so long as her words were arriving _somewhere._ “Especially as the Clone Wars walked towards its ending and we could just _feel_ that something was — amiss, your father and I became really close. Anakin was away all the time, and Bail rarely got to return to Alderaan, so we turned to each other more often than not. Well, I was pregnant by then, and my hormones were all over the place — _granted_ , your father saw me crying over the stupidest things more often than I would have liked him to. Still, he was, well, a _man_ , so the day he had finally had enough and broke down in front of me — I was so astonished, to say the least.”

Leia became so still and stiff it seemed she was barely breathing.

“He simply missed your mother _so much_ , but going home simply wasn’t — enough,” she reminisced, “There was something — missing from his home. He told me that Breha couldn’t conceive and that they were so _desperate_ for a child to love, but how could they place the responsibility of a crown over an orphan’s head? It would be selfish of them to adopt an innocent child only to give them the burden of an entire kingdom to reign, something so _big_ that a child would never ask for. But then, they had so much love to give, and they dreamed of a child every night. Going home didn’t make sense when his home suddenly felt so empty. I had never seen your father cry, I had hardly ever seen your father past the perfect polite diplomat, so when he confided in me of his burdens, I suddenly comprehended him so much better.”

Leia didn’t move.

“What I’m trying to say is, it’s _okay_ to feel, Leia,” Padmé said, setting her hair in three parts. “It’s okay to let your guard down near those you trust, there’s no shame in that. If the great man that your father was could show vulnerability to his allies, then so can you. Nobody will think any less of you because of that.”

Leia’s discreet sniff was the first indicator that she had been listening, but whether she was embracing Padmé’s words or doing the exact opposite, Padmé couldn’t know.

“Please don’t.”

Padmé frowned, unsure of what Leia was asking for. She waited, but when nothing else came from her, she continued to brush her hair.

“I was very young when I met your father. I was 18 and had just been appointed as the Senator from Naboo, and although I had already served as Queen for two consecutive terms, coming out here to Coruscant and dealing with the intergalactic politics — it was something else entirely. I was terrified, to say the least, after all, I was now representing my homeworld to the galaxy, and it fell on my hands entirely to deal with every crisis that might have compromised Naboo’s integrity. You see, I had a _duty_ , and I wasn’t certain I was up for so much responsibility.”

She gently chuckled to herself, “Your _father_ didn’t think I was up for the job, either, he saw me as no more than a naïve little girl from a Mid Rim World with no idea how the galaxy actually worked — and it didn’t help that we first met when I was being led into a trap that might have taken my life, and he essentially saved me from it. There it went any deference I was hoping to achieve with my peers. Still, I _knew_ that your father’s good grace was the one I needed to conquer, as he and his small circle were the only ones truly wanting to make a difference to those in need. Somehow, I would have to earn your father’s respect, and that wasn’t something easy to do.” 

Leia shivered, but Padmé couldn’t tell whether it came from her words or for her hands on her hair.

“As I delved into my first term as a Senator, I was invited for a big fancy party over Mon Mothma’s. Of course, I knew that the party was only a disguise for a larger, more important meeting taking place, so I needed to be at the top of my game and — do some espionage, naturally. I think I’ve told you before about how I used to switch places with my handmaidens for both my protection and to walk more freely, away from scrutiny’s eyes, so _that’s_ what I knew I needed to do at Mon’s party. My handmaiden was posing as me while I walked freely around the place, eavesdropping on every conversation that I wasn’t invited to, _especially_ your father’s. That’s when I overheard him talking to Mon Mothma that he would like to bring me into his inner circle and that he was on his way to talk to me. Naturally — I panicked. My handmaidens were obviously trained to pass for me, but I would like to present myself to your father as he came with his proposal, so I rushed to find my handmaiden because we needed to switch places. We were just on our way to the bathroom when your father caught up to us, but we pretended we didn’t see him as we followed ahead, and he seemed to understand where we were headed so he stepped aside. However, I very quickly exchanged looks with him, and it just hit him. He instantly knew of our act the moment he laid eyes on me.”

Tiredly, Leia rubbed her hand against her eye. “Please stop.”

Once again, Padmé waited for further appeal, yet it never came.

“There have only been two people that made our cover. One of them was Master Jedi Qui-Gon Jinn, and the other — _your father._ Your father, of all people in the galaxy! He was a very clever man and an even more astute politician. Although I was very _offended_ that he had deduced our act, now, it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest that he was the one to perceive it.” 

This time, Leia’s evasion came from her leaning slightly forwards to escape Padmé; so slightly that Padmé failed to notice it. “Padmé—”

“Your father was an extraordinary man,” Padmé said. “I loved him dearly, and there isn’t anything that I wish more than to have had the chance to _thank him_ for everything he did for you. He was under no obligation of taking _Vader’s daughter_ under his wings and raising her as her own, but he did it out of the goodness of his heart. He and your mother always longed for _you_ , you were always destined to be their baby, nobody else. They didn’t want to place the responsibility of a crown over a child, but they didn’t want you to bear the cross of knowing you were Vader’s daughter, either, so they gave you _the world_ hoping it would be enough to spare the pain of your heritage. Your parents loved you so much, Leia, and I see glimpses of their essences in whom you’ve become everyday. You—”

“Stop!” at last, Leia yelled. Her head was throbbing as she mercilessly pulled away from Padmé, running to the opposite side of the room from her. Padmé’s alarm was so big that she dropped the comb to the floor. “Why can’t you hear me? _Stop!_ ”

With her eyes wide, Padmé stood frozen where she had been left. “Leia, I didn’t mean to—”

“You’re making everything worse!” Leia expressed, pressing her hands to her ears to show her disdain for whatever Padmé had to say next. “I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to know of this great friendship you had with my father! I don’t _care_ — I just want you to shut up.”

So, Padmé did. Unsure of how to respond to Leia’s sudden burst of rage.

“I’m so _sick_ of everybody,” Leia accused. “Why the fuck can’t you all just leave me in peace? I’m not this — _breakable_ thing that you’re so determined to mend. I was doing just _fine_ before you came.”

Swallowing uncomfortably, Padmé couldn’t know whether Leia meant she was doing fine just now or ever since Padmé came into the picture.

Honestly, Padmé feared to know which one.

“Leia, you’ve got it all wrong,” she said calmly, trying to remain the serene one. “Nobody thinks you’re — breakable, nor anything like that. On the contrary, we all admire your resilience, your strength inspires everybody into not giving up.”

“But?”

“But,” Padmé carefully paused, “There’s just so much strength you can carry before it leads to your own downfall.”

Leia scoffed ironically.

“You’re very naïve, then, if you think I can easily fall,” Leia denounced with a grave voice. 

“I think you’re on the edge of falling, Leia,” Padmé reasoned. “Look at yourself! There’s just so much you can take. Your refusal to take a moment to step back and see how you’re degrading your own health _will_ be your own ruin.”

“No, Padmé, my _ruin_ was set in motion a long time ago, when they forced me to watch Alderaan being blown into space dust while knowing there was virtually _nothing_ I could have done to stop them,” Leia said angrily. “ _That_ was my downfall, and yet, _somehow_ , I’ve stood tall. I’ve been standing tall ever since, not because of you, or because of Luke, or because of Han. You don’t get to come in here and claim you know my health better than I do because _you’ve_ just gotten here.”

“Then I’m glad I’ve at least gotten here, Leia, because it’s damn _time_ someone knocked some — some sense into you!” Padmé refuted, her voice just as loud. “Everyone is so afraid of you, of setting you off somehow, that they walk on eggshells around you! I get that it’s not easy, but it’s time you do something about it. You can’t live like this forever.”

“I’ve never asked anyone to be here with me!” Leia’s eyes burned with rage. “I was doing _fine_ before all of you came along and started imposing on matters you can’t possibly understand!”

“You can’t be serious right now,” Padmé muffled, disbelieved. “Just because we haven’t been _there_ it doesn’t mean we don’t understand! Actually, scratch that — we’ve _all_ been there. We’ve all lost everything, and that’s the only reason we’ve found our ways to each other. Stop acting like we’re disposable, Leia.”

“Why aren’t you?” Leia instigated, “ _Everything_ is disposable, Padmé. When you see that even something as gigantic as your homeworld is disposable, you understand that there’s nothing we can rely on except ourselves.”

“ _You_ can’t rely on yourself, Leia, and it’s time you start seeing that,” Padmé lectured. “You’ve taken everything that’s happened onto your shoulders and it’s starting to crush you. Eventually, you won’t be able to _breathe_ under all that baggage, and you’ll have driven all of us away to cry for help.”

“Proving yet once again that I can’t rely on people,” Leia snapped.

Padmé rolled her eyes at her words being twisted right in front of her. “You need to stop being so stubborn regarding things that you _think_ is what you want in life. Step off your high horse and realize that _all_ that we want is that you achieve happiness. That you reach a point in life where you can live past your grief.”

Leia shook her head. “You have _no_ moral high ground to say that when your _grief_ led you right to Luke and I’s doorsteps.”

Padmé breathed in a long breath to calm herself — Leia knew exactly where to strike when she wanted to hurt people.

“You’re right. I was given a second chance when I thought I had lost everything,” she said, her throat constricted. “That does not change the fact that I still lost _you_ . I’ve accepted it, despite the heartache that it brings me every day. You _need_ to learn to accept your losses as well.”

“My losses are who I am!” Leia exclaimed. “I will not let go of them. I _can’t_ let go of them, not when I’ve got an entire legacy depending on me to survive.”

“You can’t honestly believe you’re going to lead your people forward when you’re stuck in the past,” Padmé denounced.

“Yes, I can. Our past defines who we are.”

“Yes, except you’re letting the _disaster_ define who you are,” she accused. “You’re supposed to represent Alderaan, not its destruction.”

“Those two are intrinsically intertwined,” Leia said.

“Only because you want it to be.”

“Because I want it to be—you’ve got guts, Padmé, I’ll give you that. To come here uninvited and start making assumptions of me like you’ve known me all my life,” Leia arraigned, holding her chin high to make herself taller than she actually was. “Why don’t _you_ step off your high horse and realize that you and I — we’re not the same person. I’m happy that you’ve got your life back, I really am, but I am _never_ getting a second chance to fix up my mistakes, but that doesn’t excuse you to barge in here acting so fucking entitled over _my_ grief.”

Tiredly, Padmé leaned against the vanity. “Why can’t you just for once in your life realize that your _family_ isn’t your enemy? We just want you to help.”

“Have you ever stopped to think that maybe I _don’t_ want your help?”

“All the time!” Padmé gesticulated wide. “And that’s what worries me the most! I’m worried sick all the time that you will alienate everyone in your life and there will be no one left for you to count on.”

“If that means I will _finally_ be left in peace, then I can’t wait for it!”

Padmé crossed her arms. “You can’t honestly think that’s what you want in life.”

“That’s the only thing I want in life!”

For the first time, Leia looked away. It was true, there was nothing that she craved more than peace; she wanted to be able to get a full night of sleep without waking up in despair due to her nightmares, she wanted to be able to make love to the man she loved without memories of the past immobilizing her, she wanted to walk in the green meadows of Alderaan again and allow herself to become one and only with her homeworld.

All she longed for was peace.

Yet, peace always seemed so distant from her.

Giving up seemed to be easier than working tirelessly towards a peace that she might never achieve. 

Padmé compressed her lips on a thin line; she wasn’t Force sensitive, she couldn’t delve into Leia’s emotions and thoughts, so all that she heard was — Leia wanted peace _from_ her.

“I’m sorry, then, that my presence here is such a bother,” she said sourly.

Leia swallowed hard; that’s not what she had wanted to say, was it? Still, she was hurting, and she refused to ever lose an argument, so the most despicable things escaped her lips without her awareness.

“Your presence here hurts.”

Padmé felt her eyes stung. She refused to cry, though, she refused to give Leia the satisfaction.

“You should have said something earlier, then,” Padmé did her best to keep her voice steady, “It would have spared the both of us a lot of pain.”

“It probably would,” Leia agreed, now standing on her back to Padmé, so Padmé would not see the tears freely streaming down her cheeks. “Your return is the amalgamation of all my aches.”

No, that wasn’t true at all — what was wrong with her? Why was she saying those things? Why was she so desperate to drive away every person that remotely cared for her?

She placed her hand over her mouth to refrain the sob that was daring to come out. She could not take her words back, and they would come back to haunt her forever.

 _She was ruining everything._ Like Padmé had so wisely pointed out, Leia was bringing her own downfall upon her.

Padmé’s lower lip started to tremble; she couldn’t believe that it had all been for _nothing_. All her effort, all the time they had spent together, all their genuine bonding — it couldn’t have all been in vain, could it?

However, Leia could not take her words back, and Padmé felt sick to her stomach.

“You won’t have to worry about it anymore, then,” Padmé announced. “You won’t have to see me again, not unless you want to.”

Leia felt her knees weak beneath her — what the _fuck_ had she done? How could she taint everything that she touched?

Padmé, still hanging to the smallest hope, waited. She waited for a request that she stayed, that she didn’t walk away — however, it never came.

Leia’s failure to stop her from going broke both of their hearts. 

“I’ll be leaving for my apartment tomorrow, then,” Padmé said, her voice so small. “If you need me, you’ll know where to find me.”

“I won’t need you,” Leia said just as lowly. “I’ve been doing fine without parents for years now.”

Padmé smiled sadly, refrained herself from saying — Leia was far from being as fine as she judged herself to be.

Instead, she turned around to leave without saying goodbye.

Leia heard her steps fading away, and her eyes now burned with her tears and with the disdain she felt for herself. 

She felt like Anakin, and the realization stole her of her breath — she was hurting everyone she cared for, and there would be no undoing of the damage she was causing if she didn’t act soon.

“Padmé, wait—”

It was too late; Padmé had already left her room, and Leia didn’t have the strength to run after her.

Outside, Padmé rushed towards her own chamber, where she would like to lock herself in for the rest of the night. Not even passing by Luke made her heart flutter as it usually did.

“Padmé! There you are. I was on my way to see Leia—”

“Not now, Luke,” she indelicately pushed him aside, walking past him without sparing him a glance.

Luke frowned, but let her go. He shifted his gaze towards the direction of Leia’s bunk and decided to see what had happened for himself.

He found the door to her bunk still open like someone had rushed out of there too fast to close it again. Meanwhile, he found Leia with her back to him, leaning on the vanity as if she might collapse if she let go.

“Leia?” he gently called for her, not bothering to close the door behind him. “What happened?”

Leia shut her eyes tightly; she did not want to deal with Luke at that moment. She just wanted _peace_ and to mourn for herself and how she lost everybody in her life. First her parents, then Alderaan, now Padmé. Each time, she had been intrinsically responsible for their losses; she tainted everything that she touched.

She had become what she feared the most; she had become _Anakin._ Every drawn comparison made between the two of them now sense, and she couldn’t _breathe._

Luke waited for his sister to say something, _anything_ , but she barely recognized his presence there. So, he tried again.

“I just ran into Padmé. I think she was crying,” he said in a small voice. He noticed as the muscles on Leia’s back tensed, yet she did not turn around to face him. “I saw the broadcast, and it was awful, Leia, just awful. I can’t even begin to imagine how bad you must be feeling right now. It’s completely understandable if you said or did anything that might have upset Padmé, you’re not in a good place right. But… Can you please talk to me?”

Leia felt the tears rolling down her tears and she could have sworn she heard their sound against the wood of the vanity. She just wanted to be alone and _hate_ herself for everything that she had done.

“Go away, Luke.”

“I can’t do that, Leia,” Luke said condescendingly. “I can’t leave you — not when you’re like this.”

Leia breathed in a tattered breath.

“I know we’re not as connected as we once were, but I can still feel your presence in the Force,” Luke said, taking one step towards her but still keeping his distance. “Your emotions — are all over the place. You’re feeling so much you don’t know how to shield. And there’s so much _guilt_ , Leia. Misplaced guilt.”

Leia’s lower lip started to tremble; misplaced guilt? Her brother had no grasp of reality, and his willingness to believe in her innocence regarding all the things that she had been blamed for and more only proved his naivité. 

Her mind took her back to the Death Star — so vividly it was like she was reliving the moment. With her closed eyes, she saw Alderaan, she saw her _home_ ; she wanted to touch it with her bare hands and hold it forever. If only Tarkin didn’t hold as tightly to his masochism. If only Vader didn’t stand behind her and held her strongly by the shoulder to keep her in place.

“Leia, stop that,” Luke demanded. He didn’t know where her mind had taken her, but he had sensed the sudden spike in her culpability, to the point it was starting to bother him. “Let go of your blame, Leia. You can’t live like that.”

At the sound of his words, Leia only felt Vader tightening his grasp on her shoulder. Reminding her of her liability and fastening her guilt deep into her core.

“Leia—”

Unsure of what else he could do, Luke walked towards her and placed his hand on her shoulder. Wanting nothing more than to help her and to bring her into the reality where _nobody_ in their sane minds held her responsible for the things that the Empire had done to Alderaan.

Granted, he succeeded in bringing her back to herself. Leia’s eyes shot open at the sudden hand on her shoulder, and her mind screamed at her — Vader was back; somehow, Vader had been brought back to life and he was tarnishing her again. Holding her and forcing her to watch as she lost everything, again.

 _No!_ She would fight back; this time, she refused to stand by idly and watch everybody that she loved walking away from her. So, amidst her despair, she turned around and shoved Vader far away from her.

However, her despair and her guilt only grew when she noticed what she had done to _Luke_ , her own brother. She raised both her hands to her mouth to compress her silent yell.

Luke was not expecting his sister’s sudden burst of rage, or that he would be caught so off guard that he violently stumbled back, his arm scratching on the sharp corner of a table to the point it drew blood. He looked at his arm, and then at his sister.

“What the hell, Leia?!”

Leia started to hyperventilate at the notion of what she had just done. 

“I’m sorry, Luke, I’m so sorry—”

He shook his head vigorously.

“If you didn’t want me to touch you, you could have just said it!” Luke reprimanded her, the cut barely hurting in comparison to his sister showing an act of violence towards him. “You didn’t need to push me away!”

“I know, I’m so sorry, Luke,” Leia kept saying, and kept _praying_ for his forgiveness. She had lost Alderaan, she had lost her adoptive parents, she had just ruined her relationship with her birth mother; if she came to her twin brother, blood of her blood — she would crumble, and she didn’t think she would ever be able to pull herself back together.

“I came here to check on you because I was worried about you,” Luke continued, “Yet, here we are all over again. It’s like you want to push away anyone who could possibly care for you.”

This time, Leia remained silent. She had nothing to say in her defense.

“You want to be alone, fine, I’ll leave you alone,” Luke said, no longer looking at the figure of his sister ahead of him. “I just hope that one day you’ll learn that you’re alone only because you _want_ to.”

Leia tried to suppress her sob to no avail.

Luke turned to leave, but not before pulling a small holo device from his pocket and indignantly placing it over the table with a thud. Leia didn’t need to think too much to know what it was.

“I’ve spent the last several weeks trying to fix it, for _you_ ,” Luke heartbrokenly said. “Today, I dedicated all my time to succeed in fixing it to you, because I wanted something _good_ to come out of this dreadful day. It’s a little blurry, I couldn’t salvage all the mechanism after it fell, but it's still there. I hope this will mean something to you. Or not, I don’t care.”

With that, he left. The door closed and locked Leia inside within her solitude.

Leia stumbled towards the table where the holo device was and, with shaky hands, turned it on, the picture of her dead parents coming to life. As Luke said, their faces were a little burry, but they were _there_ again for her. Upon her solitude, she allowed the tears to freely stream down her tears.

The tears that she had always forbidden herself from crying.

Then, something flicked inside of her. She put down the holopicture of her family and desperately rushed towards her wardrobe, where she kept hidden in a safe box her most precious belongings; belongings from a life that didn’t exist anymore. Her heart pounded inside her chest as she opened it and found a small data card that she had kept safe for the past four years.

The data card that Mon Mothma had given her just after the battle of Yavin, once she had been confined to a medical bay to have her body treated for the horrors done to her in the Death Star. The data card of his father’s last message to his best friend, in which he had _grieved_ for the daughter he thought he had lost.

The message that she had never brought herself to hear, so scared she had been of hearing the grief on her father’s voice.

She needed to hear it today, though. She needed to remember just how much she had once been loved.

So she grabbed one of her datapads and put the data card in, falling to the ground without dignity as her father’s voice broke through.

_"She's gone. She’s gone, and I don’t know what to do._

_“I… I’m sorry, Mon. I know these matters don’t concern you, but I am on the edge of despair. All Alderaan is. I thought I knew pain before, but… Nothing compares to this. It’s like I can’t breathe._

_“Mon, I knew the risks of the mission. I was tremendously aware of them, and I still chose to send her, my own daughter, because I trusted her more than anything, that she would safely make it to Tatooine. I was wrong, and because of my mistakes, she’s paid the ultimate price._

_“It’s_ — _It’s not fair. I hate saying this but_ — _it was always supposed to be_ me _to go first. Not her. She’s my baby, she’s my whole world, and she’s… she’s…_

_“Ahern, I’m sorry. I can’t bring myself to say it. It all feels so surreal. It’s been three days since we got the news that there had been an accident and everybody aboard the Tantive IV died, and ever since then, it’s like life just stopped. Nothing makes sense anymore._

_“Breha is devastated, for lack of a better word. I don’t think the right words to describe what we’re feeling exist. She hasn’t left her bed for three days now, she can’t bring herself to eat or to drink without getting sick to her stomach, and I understand it. I understand because even though I’m trying to remain strong, for Breha, for… For her, there’s nothing I wish more than to fall to my knees and beg that the goddesses are merciful enough to take me as well._

_“Mon, she was our miracle. She was everything to us. I don’t know how to breathe when she isn’t here anymore._

_“Breha believes she’s still alive. The last words I’ve heard from her, all three days ago, was ordering our people to go after Leia and bring her back home. I want so badly to cling to Breha’s hope, to know that the Empire is lying and that my daughter is still out there, somewhere, alive. But_ — _if Leia is still alive, then it means that they have her… it means_ he _has her… and they must be doing the most terrible things to her to get her to talk._

 _“I know my daughter, I know how stubborn she is. No, how_ strong _she is. I know she won’t talk, I know she will give her life for the cause she believes in. But they will try to break her, and I can’t bring myself to imagine the pain she’s going through. My daughter is either dead or she is being held by the cruelest people in the galaxy being tortured by them. How can I choose? How can I long for either of those possibilities?”_

There was a sob; a painful sob. Leia had to fight hard to contain her own emotions at the sound of her father so broken.

_“If by some miracle Leia ever comes back home, I’ll never let her go again. I know this sounds so selfish of me, that she’s entitled to her freedom, and I know that she will look me dead in the eyes and call me sexist and all the possible names in the galaxy for keeping her away from her fight, but… I can’t lose her. I can’t ever lose her. Mon, if she truly is dead, then I’m lost. I don’t know how to recover from this ache, I don’t know how to live in a world where my Leia doesn’t._

_“We spent so many years longing for her… She is our miracle, she saved us from the innate pain in our hearts. To lose her is to lose hope. To lose hope… We might as well be dead._

_“I’ve lost her, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. I was supposed to protect her, I brought her home so she would have a safe and loving life, and I failed her. I failed her, I failed Breha, I failed Alderaan. My people will be devastated if_ — _when_ — _we have to tell them of their princess’ ultimate fate. They love her so much, and_ she _loves them so much. She was going to be such a greater leader, and I stole that from her. I stole her youth and her life from her. All because I couldn’t keep her away from the fight._

 _“Argh, I’m sorry. I know this mostly doesn’t make sense. I am just_ — _so sad, Mon. I needed to talk to you about my grief because I can’t bring it to Breha, not when she’s so lost herself. And… Well, I need to tell you something._

_“I will not rest, Mon. I won’t give up until I’ve found the people responsible for taking my little girl from me. I will not stop until I find them, and I make them pay for hurting her, for laying a finger on her. Even if it means getting myself killed in the end. Life doesn’t make sense without my Leia, anyway, so I will go down by bringing her name justice. I just regret that I’ll put Breha through that, as well. But she’ll understand. She’s always ever wanted what’s best for Leia, and she would want to see the people that took Leia from us destroyed._

_“Breha doesn’t know of this, of course. You’re the only person that knows. I will avenge my daughter’s death even if it’s the last thing I do. And if I happen to find Leia safe, alive, on my journey, I’ll have the chance to try and make amends for my mistakes_ — _Hm? Yes, come in. What is it?”_

There was a second voice in the call, but Leia couldn’t make their words. She was already too busy trying to hold her breath before she collapsed.

When Bail’s voice returned, there was something else there. A fright that Leia had never heard from her father before.

 _“I_ — _I have to go. Something’s happened. There’s something… Hanging over the skies of Alderaan, it doesn’t look good. I_ — _I have to go get Breha. I don’t know what we’re going to do, or what’s going to happen, but I need to find Breha. I need to be_ — _with her.”_

With misty eyes, Leia understood all too well — her father was aware of the Death Star threatening the Alderaanian sky, and he knew exactly what was going to happen, and he was — scared. She didn’t think he was scared for himself, not entirely, but he was terrified of what would happen to his wife, to his people, to his homeworld — to the daughter he now knew was still alive.

He knew because the only reason that Alderaan would be caught in the line of fire was if his daughter that the Empire held hostage had resisted their every attempt at breaking her will.

He knew, just as he knew that the instant that the Death Star hovered over Alderaan — there was no escape for them.

 _“Mon… If you happen to find Leia… No,_ when _you find Leia_ — _Please tell her that I love her. That her mother and I love her so much, and we are_ so _proud of her. Please, let her know that we will always be with her, even if she can’t be with us anymore. She’s our greatest pride, our greatest joy. Mon_ — _don’t let Leia hurt too badly. I know it’s a lot to ask of you, especially when I know just how easily Leia’s heart breaks for the atrocities that happen everywhere, so this will hurt as nothing has ever hurt her before, but… Tell her to be strong. Tell her that her heart is a star so bright that it will never burn out, and so long as she holds tight to the light inside of her, she will outshine them all._

_“I have to go. I’ll see you soon, my friend.”_

Bail Organa’s last words ceased from existence, and he was, at last, laid for his final rest.

Leia broke a sob, and then another, and for the first time since the battle of Yavin — she cried for all of her losses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise it'll all be resolved around the next chapter. trust me, I know the author.
> 
> feedback appreciated!


	39. Thirty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for your feedback!

Padmé was enjoying a late lunch with her son, Luke, while still at the rebellion base, despite her promises of the previous night of leaving back for her apartment so she wouldn’t get in the way anymore. She had her bags ready to go, though she lacked the courage to officially leave. 

Luke, naturally, wasn’t all that happy about it, and Padmé could sense an unexplainable resentment of his sister that he desperately tried to hide, or move past — she wasn’t quite sure other than that he despised himself for it. So, talking about the topic had become a moot topic for the time being, and they chose to ignore it altogether.

They had barely addressed the events of the previous day.

Ameera, on the other hand, upon seeing Padmé packing, had told her to sit her ass back down and settle down. Of course, Ameera’s brute lexicon didn’t surprise Padmé anymore, but she struggled to do as she had been told, especially when it felt so  _ wrong  _ to stay. Then, Ameera proceeded to tell many stories of how many times she had threatened to kill Duaa, words spoken in the heat of the moment by a wounded soul — and Padmé did appreciate her friend’s attempt of consolation. So, although she had finished packing her very few belongings, she decided to wait until the end of the day to see how things would unfold.

Unfortunately, every minute that passed in which Leia didn’t come out to make amends for the previous night was a minute more where Padmé lost all her hope.

She didn’t address that aloud either, though.

Instead, she was simply enjoying her time with her son, despite the amount of unspoken tension in the air. They were both trying to act normal, to pretend that was just an ordinary day, even though one of their family members had forsaken them the night before.

That all changed when Padmé suddenly frowned and her gaze went past Luke’s head.

He scowled as well, turning his head around to see what had abruptly caught Padmé’s attention, and his heart broke a little when the woman walking towards them  _ wasn’t  _ Leia.

He had seen her before, though, around the base. He had never talked to her, so he didn’t know her name.

However — Padmé did.

“Marlow,” she gently called for Mon Mothma’s assistant the moment the young girl approached their table. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry to bother you on your lunch break, Madam,” ever so polite, Marlow curtseyed before Padmé.

“It’s okay,” Padmé said, already far too used to Marlow’s innate timidity. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you supposed to be at the Senate?”

“I am,” Marlow agreed, ignoring the big set of blue eyes that curiously stared at her. “Mon Mothma sent me over, actually. She had scheduled to meet with Princess Leia to go over the press conference early this morning. However, it has been hours, and the Princess hasn’t shown up.”

Padmé’s eyes widened; so did Luke’s.

“Wait, Leia didn’t show up for her duty?” Luke asked, the implication getting lost from him due to its unreliability. “That doesn’t  _ happen.  _ Leia might be dying but she will still always show up for her duty.”

He spoke aloud the words on Padmé’s mind. No matter how defeated Leia might be, she  _ always  _ put her obligations first, above even herself. No matter how badly she might have been hurting the previous night, it wasn’t like her to simply — give up.

_ Give up.  _ Padmé’s heart sped up.

“Hence why Madam Mothma became worried, sir,” Marlow addressed the rebellion’s hero for the first time, regardless of how intimidated his mere presence made her feel. “She told me to come find Leia and not to return to the Senate unless I’m with her or I have a very good reason as to why she won’t come.”

Although Marlow was speaking, Padmé’s head was already too far ahead to properly hear what she was saying.

_ She shouldn’t have left Leia alone _ , was the only thought on her mind, alongside every single scenario that could have come from Leia’s degrading mental state the previous night. 

Suddenly, Padmé was all but forgotten of the things said back then. 

“I haven’t seen Leia since last night,” Luke said, looking down. “I usually at least run into her in the mornings, but I… I wasn’t exactly fond of coming across her today.”

Padmé didn’t have the time to interpret whatever he meant.

“Marlow, sit down,” Padmé ordered, her voice so imposing that Marlow saw no choice but to take a seat next to Luke while Padmé herself was already on her feet. “You two — stay put. Let’s not crowd Leia. I’ll see to it myself.”

With that, Padmé left without waiting for a response.

* * *

Knocking on Leia’s door felt like a dejà vu to the previous night. Yet, it felt so  _ wrong,  _ as nobody came to answer it this time.

Her heart was beating so fast it threatened to jump out of her chest.

On a whim, she tried to open it. To her surprise, it had been left unlocked; like whoever had stormed out of there —  _ Luke _ — had closed it and Leia hadn’t even bothered to lock it up.

With her heart on her throat, Padmé stepped inside.

The room was completely dark, and Padmé never feared something as she dreaded to flick on the lights and learn what she would find —  _ how  _ she would find Leia. However, the penumbra didn’t give her another choice.

Bracing herself, Padmé turned on the lights. She couldn’t help the sigh of relief that escaped her lips upon seeing Leia lying down on her bed.

_ Breathing _ ; she could tell as much from the gentle rise and fall of her body, even though Leia faced the wall. She wasn’t moving, and not even Padmé’s sudden presence there had made her flinch and give  _ some  _ sign of awareness. 

Padmé noticed how she laid over the bedsheets, and her clothes were the same as the day before. Her hair was left in an unfinished braid; the braid that Padmé hadn’t had the chance to finish the previous night. It would seem — Leia had simply collapsed and given up.

The mother took one step ahead, stopping on her track when the sound of something cracking under her foot came. She looked down and saw shards of a broken vase shattered all over the ground, mashed with the dirt that was once inside it and the remnants of what once was the life form of a plant.

The plant that Chewbacca had given Leia once Han went missing, in a silent promise that life would always bloom. When Leia had reached her lowest point in the previous night and squashed the vase against the floor — the promise was no longer there, as she no longer believed in it.

Sometimes — life just ceased to exist.

Dreading an accident to happen, Padmé picked up the bigger shards from the floor and placed them over the table, thinking to herself that she would deal with the minor ones later. There, she found a blurry holo picture of the Organas; a  _ beautiful  _ picture of their family, taken in a moment where they were away from the public eye. She concluded that was the picture that had been broken such a long time ago, and she was slightly happy that Leia could have it back.

The picture, however, didn’t attract her attention as much as the datapad next to it. The datapad still turned on, showing her a voice memo. Making a face to herself, she played it.

_ “She’s gone. She’s gone, and I don’t know what to do…” _

Padmé was startled to hear the voice of her deceased friend, and her heart hurt as the message carried through and she came to understand the anguish behind its context. As she listened to it, her eyes wandered towards Leia, focusing on her and the small body responses that hearing the ghost of her dead father speak so fondly of her would bring her.

Yet, Leia didn’t as much as shift.

_ “Tell her that her heart is a star so bright that it will never burn out, and so long as she holds tight to the light inside of her, she will outshine them all.” _

Padmé’s eyes filled to the brim with water as Bail Organa’s message came to an end. Still gazing at Leia, she wondered — had Leia, at last, let go of the light inside of her?

With a tired sigh, Padmé walked towards Leia. She doubted the princess was sleeping, her body was too tense despite its stillness for her to be asleep. Expecting her presence to have been acknowledged by then, Padmé carefully took a seat by the edge of the bed; the mattress shifted underneath her.

Still, Leia’s body remained just as lifeless. It worried Padmé.

Gently, she placed her hand over Leia’s shoulder and left it there. Just as still, nothing more than a reminder that she was there.

Leia didn’t shiver at the unexpected touch. 

Padmé tried to look at her, but the princess had hidden away every single of her traits.

So, very plainly, very crudely, Padmé asked, “Are you hurt?”

Leia didn’t answer; didn’t as much breathe to show she had acknowledged Padmé’s question. 

Padmé bit on the tip of her tongue; her silence — wasn’t okay.

“Leia,” she imposed her voice, like she was back in the galactic senate again, “I need you to tell me if you’re hurt. Physically hurt, I mean.”

Padmé thought she saw a slight movement from Leia, but if it was real, and whether Leia had been nodding or shaking her head, she couldn’t know.

“Leia,  _ damnit _ ,” Padmé cried. “Enough with this. I understand that you’re suffering, that your heart is in pain, but you need to speak to me  _ right now _ . This isn’t the way, Leia…! You’re already so determined to hurt everybody else around you, but I will  _ not  _ stand by and let you hurt yourself.”

The hurt behind her words was evident; the sharpness of her words sliced like a knife — Padmé didn’t care. Leia had hurt her the previous night, and she wouldn’t just ignore it, not even for the princess’ sake.

“Why do you care?”

Meanwhile, Leia’s hushed words were so soft yet so unexpected that, even though Padmé was waiting for them, they startled her.

Padmé sighed; honestly, she couldn’t answer that.

“I don’t know. I just do.”

She couldn’t walk away, no matter how much her reason begged her to — that no relationship was worth all the emotional distress that her relation with Leia had been ever since they first met each other. 

But those moments where they had both put their walls down and allowed something  _ good  _ to happen; all those small instances where Padmé had genuinely fallen in love with her daughter — they had been worth the hurt, how could they not?

Clinging to  _ those  _ memories, Padmé blinked slowly.

“If I don’t care, Leia, who else will?”

At last, Padmé felt Leia shivering underneath her touch.

“You shouldn’t.”

Leia pulled her arms to herself, trying to make herself even smaller.

“Why are you here?”

Padmé didn’t allow herself to think of her anger, to remember how she had been so hurt that she had cried herself to sleep the night before; she was trying so desperately to be the better person, to be  _ there  _ despite all the words that had been spoken — words that had deeply affected her — and she refused to be scared away again due to Leia’s defense mechanism of hurting others so she wouldn’t further hurt herself.

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Leia breathed in a raggedy breath; it didn’t feel right for her. It all felt — so wrong, to have the woman she so wrongly deceived come back to her at every turn. She did not deserve it; she deserved to be left alone.

After all, hadn’t she pushed away every person that could possibly care for her? Her brother’s words echoed endlessly in her mind.

“We’re past all thought of right or wrong.”

Padmé frowned, unsure of how to respond to that. Did Leia regret the things she had done and said to the point she didn’t think herself deserving of being looked after?

“Leia,” Padmé said her name firmly. “You still haven’t answered my question, and I  _ need  _ you to.”

Leia exhaled tiredly, very quickly brushing her finger against the corner of her eye.

“No,” Leia whispered. “I don’t break my promises, Padmé.”

Padmé compressed her lips; if the urge had still been there and Leia only refrained herself from doing something reckless because she had once made a promise — they weren’t that better off.

Padmé made herself comfortable, leaning over the headboard and spreading her legs across the mattress; Leia was so withered to her side it was no struggle to fit them both there. 

“I was really worried, you know, when nobody had seen you all day and I came to learn that you had ditched your meeting with Mon Mothma, without letting her know. It’s not like you to forfeit on your obligations, no matter how hurt you are,” the mother elaborated. “I could only think to myself, has Leia finally had enough? Has she done something rash that will leave all of us broken for the rest of our lives?”

Leia felt her lower lip trembling.

“I’m relieved that my worst fears didn’t come true,” Padmé admitted. “However, seeing you here like this, like you’ve  _ given up  _ — it doesn’t ease my concerns.”

Leia sniffed but held tight to her silence.

“That was a very beautiful message,” Padmé continued, referring to Bail’s final message to his daughter, even if indirectly. She would infer that, given Leia’s reaction and her current emotional state, Leia had never listened to it before. “His heart ached for you, and his only comfort before death was  _ knowing  _ you were alive. You were always his only hope.”

Padmé looked at the face that Leia tried to hide from her; she noticed that her eyes were closed so tightly there were wrinkles all over them.

“Your father was always good with words,” she reminisced with a sad smile. “He always had this innate power of commanding a whole room into listening to him, and his speeches were always encouraging enough to move mountains.”

She observed, from Leia’s face, that she was desperately trying not to cry again. Padmé only wished she would.

“The stuff he said — about your heart being a star so bright that it would never burn out, and that your light would outshine every bit of darkness in this galaxy,” she paraphrased, “Well. That’s so — inspirational, to say the least. He knew you like nobody else, so I sincerely hope that you will take his words to heart.”

Padmé thought she heard the start of a broken wail.

“What I’m trying to say is, what I’m  _ asking  _ of you — don’t give up, Leia. Don’t let your light burn out. You’ve already come so far.”

Desperately, Leia placed her hands over her mouth.

“You can cry. Even if it feels wrong to, you can cry.”

This time, a sob broke through Leia’s lip, muffed only by her hands over her mouth.

“If I’m a star, then the only star I can ever be is the Death Star,” Leia let it out. “I only bring darkness to the path I walk on.”

Padmé frowned. “What are you talking about, Leia? You restored the light back to the galaxy. You brought peace and freedom—”

“My parents, Alderaan, Luke, you—” she gasped, out of breath. “I lose everything I love.  _ No _ , I taint everything I love. I am — Anakin. I’ve only brought misery to those around me.”

Padmé listened carefully, a little taken back from that sudden outburst of emotions when Leia tended to store it all deep inside of her until she exploded.

Well — the explosion came. 

“Leia,” Padmé called her, “I think that, just like Anakin, you hurt too deeply. You have claimed the pain of everyone you loved — of Alderaan, of your parents, of your people — and you’ve made it your essence because you’re too scared to actually  _ lose  _ them if you let go of their pain. But you’re wrong, you’re only further damaging yourself by holding their pain. Leia, it’s time to let go and hold tight to what truly matters — their legacy.  _ That’s  _ what you need to be, not their undoing.”

Still looking at her hidden figure, Padmé squeezed her shoulder tight.

“Besides — You still haven’t lost everything,” she continued. “You still haven’t lost Luke. Nor me.”

That was all it took for Leia to angrily come out of her cocoon and turn around to face Padmé, tears and all.

“I drove you all away!” she yelled, “I hurt you, the both of you.”

Fresh tears streamed down Leia’s face as she looked deeply into Padmé’s eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Leia said calmly this time, and Padmé heard something other than the previous night’s anger on her voice. So, she waited. “The things I said — I wanted to hurt you.”

Pouting her lips, Padmé nodded. “And you did.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” she kept repeating herself, and Padmé wondered whether she thought she wasn’t deserving of having Padmé back or if she dreaded that Padmé would leave again. “The things I said — unexcusable. You deserve better than this, you deserve someone who—who doesn’t treat you so  _ badly _ . So does Luke…!”

“Then apologize,” Padmé demanded with a serious face. “ _ Learn  _ how to apologize, Leia. It’s time to grow up and realize there are consequences to your actions. You  _ can’t  _ treat people like they’re disposable, even if life has tried to show you otherwise.”

Now in a sitting position, Leia struggled to hold eye contact, but she forced herself to. 

“I  _ have  _ grown up. I was forced to grow up the moment I was brought aboard the Death Star. I’m no longer that girl so full of light and hope that — that my father was talking about…!”

If she were to have an entire conversation while tears freely ran down her cheeks, then so be it — she didn’t care about appearances anymore.

“The girl he knew died alongside Alderaan.”

“She did,” Padmé sadly agreed. “You were forced to grow up too fast. You had no choice but to let go of everything you were in the blink of an eye, and that was never fair. You were left so hurt by that abrupt force demanding that you grew up that, sometimes, you go back to unhealthy, immature ways to cope with your trauma.”

Then, silence fell again.

“Unexpected loss is — is like a lightning bolt you don’t see coming, tearing inside of you,” Padmé said, her thumb gently rubbing over Leia’s knees. “Be it the loss of yourself or the loss of those dear to you; it tears you apart. But no matter how destroyed you are inside, my love, you cannot use it as an excuse to hurt other people, especially those that so deeply care for you. They are under no obligation to stay by your side as you consciously hurt them time after time.”

“You are,” Leia said softly, quick to correct herself before she was misinterpreted, “I mean,  _ you  _ are under no obligation. There has been nobody that I’ve hurt more than you, and you shouldn’t  _ be  _ here.”

“But I am,” Padmé said rigidly, “Yesterday — you told me you would never have your second chance. Well, Leia, I am here, giving you your second chance. I’m  _ praying  _ that you accept it, but only you can decide for yourself. Only you can decide to be  _ better _ . Second chances are hard to come, but third chances? They’re even rarer.”

Leia’s lips fell apart as if it would help her breathe easier. It didn’t.

“I… I don’t deserve second chances, Padmé. Not only do I feel like you’ve given me  _ too many chances  _ already, and I repetitively failed you every single time, but… There’s too much blood on my hands. I don’t deserve it.”

It took a few seconds for Padmé to understand that they were back where it all started —  _ Alderaan _ .

By then, Leia’s gaze had dropped to her lap.

“Leia…” Padmé hoped to attract her eyes again, to no avail. “No matter what I or anyone say, you will still blame yourself, but listen to me, Leia. What happened to Alderaan — was not your fault, and if I have to spend the rest of my days reminding you of that, I will.”

Leia choked a strange sound. “That implies that I’d be granted the absolution to have you for the rest of our lives.”

“Maybe I am still hopeful that you’ll accept the absolution I grant you. That  _ Alderaan  _ grants you.”

“Padmé—”

“No, Leia, listen to me,” Padmé insisted, “To die for one’s people is a great sacrifice. To  _ live  _ for one’s people is an even greater sacrifice. If you owe Alderaan anything, you owe them your  _ life _ . You owe it to them to carry on.”

Leia struggled to catch her breath. 

“I just want to go home,” she confessed, her voice shaking. “Even if one last time.”

“I know, Leia,” Padmé smiled sadly. 

“I never got to say  _ goodbye _ ,” she cried.

“It wouldn’t have made it easier.”

Leia brought both her hands to her face.

“I have tried to move on from Alderaan ever since the day its destruction was set in motion,” Leia admitted. “I have tried  _ everything  _ to forget the pain of the past and focus on the future. Yet, it haunts me. It’s like every day further away, the more it hurts. The more I long to go home. It’s been  _ four years _ , why can’t I just forget?”

“Forgetting would be a dishonor to Alderaan,” Padmé said. “It would be a dishonor to the life that welcomed you there, even if you weren’t born a child of Alderaan. You can’t just forget and erase all the good, all the love that you were given there.”

“Then how do I move on?” Leia  _ begged  _ for an answer. “How do I let go of Alderaan?”

Padmé leaned forward and intertwined both her hands with Leia’s, lowering them and having her look at her again. “You don’t.”

Leia looked at her, scared of the answer.

“Death will always be harder on the living, you’re the one left to ache for all the life that just ceased to exist,” Padmé held her hands tight, “That doesn’t mean you have to bury your losses so deep inside of you. The only way to move on is by  _ feeling  _ all your losses until you can accept them.”

“But I  _ feel _ ,” Leia insisted, “I feel so much, sometimes I think I will implode.”

“Then  _ implode _ ,” Padmé said, “Stop keeping your feelings to yourself only. You have a whole support system here for you, all ready to lend you their hands if you just say the word.  _ Share  _ your pains, Leia.”

Leia tried; she honestly did.

“I—I  _ can’t _ . I don’t know how to.”

Padmé gently ran her thumbs over Leia’s skin. “Tell me what you feel, Leia. Let it all out.”

Lowering her head once again, Leia focused on Padmé’s hands on her. “I feel… pain. I’m in pain, and pain is a good thing. It means I’m still  _ alive _ . It should be enough, then why isn’t it?”

“I think, Leia, it doesn’t feel enough because only bad stuff has ever come from your pain,” Padmé suggested, leaning down so she could search for Leia’s eyes again. “I don’t want to glorify your suffering, far from it, but — you have to allow the good, too. Not the outer good; no, you’ve already done too much for everybody else. I’m talking about your inner peace. It’s time you allow good things to happen to you again.”

Leia listened, even when it was so hard to.

“How do I do that when I drive away  _ every  _ good thing that comes on my way?” she asked between gasps. “I hurt Luke.  _ Luke _ , my other half. Not only have I hurt him every time he tried to help me, but I  _ physically  _ hurt him yesterday. Padmé—I pushed him so angrily that I drew blood. There is no coming back from that.”

Padmé swallowed hard as she came to better understand what had happened between the twins the previous night, what had caused Luke to be so — drawn away when she saw him earlier that day. Of course, he wouldn’t tell her what took place because he still unconditionally loved his sister, and even on his dismay he was still trying to protect her, but — her actions had still hurt, like nothing else ever had.

More than ever, Padmé felt the need to repeat herself, “ _ Apologize,  _ Leia.”

It didn’t escape her that Leia still hadn’t apologized for hurting her either; if the princess thought that their current conversation was enough to erase all that had been said, then she was wrong. Padmé would not cower herself again into forgiveness, not unless said forgiveness was earned.

“I hurt him,” Leia said again, “How could I ever make this right again?”

“I don’t know,” Padmé confessed, “That is for you and your brother to work through. However, I can state for a fact that he loves you, and no matter how hurt he is, there is nothing more than he wants than to make amends with you.”

Sniffing, Leia ran the back of her hand against her cheek. “How do you know?”

“Because, if Luke wanted nothing to do with you,” Padmé incited, “He would have told me what happened.”

Leia thought she had managed to control her tears; she was wrong.

“Anakin hurt you,” Leia reminded her with a grave voice. “Would you ever forgive him?”

Padmé shifted on her seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the swift change in conversation.

“You’re not Anakin, Leia.”

“I feel — like I am,” she said. 

“The difference between you and Anakin, Leia, is that you’ve still got time to atone for your mistakes,” Padmé lectured. “Don’t wait until it’s too late.”

Leia inhaled a deep breath, then another, and another.

Meanwhile, Padmé waited for an apology to come.

“I had never listened to my father’s final message,” Leia said in a low voice, pulling her legs close to her chest. “I’ve had it — ever since the day Alderaan was brought to its doom, and somehow I made it out of the Death Star alive. But I couldn’t — I couldn’t bring myself to hear it. It would just hurt too much, to hear his voice one last time, regardless of what he had to say.”

Padmé noticed how small she was trying to make herself.

“Yesterday — I don’t remember the last time I felt so… so  _ sad.  _ I just wanted to be reminded of how much love my parents once had for me. Turns out that hearing it was a dagger to my heart; it brought me so much  _ pain,  _ thinking of everything that was stolen from us, that I… It was like I lost all my strength, like—like I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even get out of bed.”

Padmé nodded, coming to realize why she had ignored her meeting with Mon Mothma — and Padmé  _ understood  _ it. Unfortunately, she did.

“If you don’t learn how to deal with grief, that’s like taking in a breath and holding it for the rest of your life.”

Unconsciously, Leia drew in a tight breath.

“Leia, you don’t get to decide who lives and who doesn’t. Anakin tried to become so powerful so he could save those he cared for from death that he became his own doom. What Anakin couldn’t understand, and what you’re still  _ struggling  _ to understand — we’re organic, we’re meant to die, and  _ that’s  _ beautiful. It’s where beauty lies, in the mortality of things.”

“It’s  _ different  _ when death is the natural course of life and when death is forced upon you,” Leia choked out.

“Yes, and no,” Padmé reached out to touch her leg. “To truly love another person is to accept that the work of loving them is worth the pain of losing them, no matter how or when they might be taken from you.”

Leia hugged her legs. “That seems like an awfully sad way to live.”

“So maybe it is,” Padmé agreed, “It’s still better than shutting yourself to the possibility of love because you’re  _ so afraid  _ to open your heart only to have it crushed again. You can’t escape death, Leia. People in our lives will die, people that we love, maybe tomorrow, maybe years from now, maybe — after  _ we  _ die. But just because someone we love died, just because we can’t see them or talk to them anymore, it doesn’t mean they’re not still here with us.”

Leia’s lips fell half opened as she tried to control her ragged breathing. It was hard to focus past the glimpse of her tears, so she didn’t look at Padmé at all.

“It isn’t easy, but one day, you’ll find little moments, little pieces of your life that remind you of them, and they’ll be silly and dumb, or they’ll be sad and you’ll cry for hours. But they’ll still be a piece of them, and if you hold them tight, it’ll be like they’re here with you, even though they’re gone.”

Padmé leaned forward and placed her index under Leia’s trembling chin, guiding Leia’s head up until Leia was looking at her again, no matter how hard it was.

“When we die, we turn into stories, and every time someone tells one of those stories, it’s like we’re still here for them. We’re all stories in the end.”

She cupped Leia’s cheeks with both her hands, weeping Leia’s tears with her thumbs even if more would still come.

“Tell me a story, Leia.”

“W—What?”

“Tell me a story,” Padmé repeated, a tender smile across her lips. “A happy one, or a sad one.  _ Remember,  _ Leia, allow yourself to think of the past without being scared of the pain it’ll bring you. So, tell me a story.”

Leia opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to force the words out. “I — I  _ can’t _ .”

“Yes, you can,” Padmé insisted, her voice and face suddenly serious. “Come on, anything. Just try, for me, okay?”

Leia closed her eyes and allowed memories of her childhood and her youth to flood her mind. She ignored the tight pain in her chest as she revisited the times of her life where she was  _ so happy _ and nothing could get her happiness away from her. She ignored the warm tears that still escaped her eyelids as she remembered.

She remembered jumping into her father’s arms whenever he came home from Coruscant; she remembered sitting through boring galas and having to restrain her snicker whenever her parents did something funny to amuse her. She remembered her mother sitting her on her lap and crafting the most beautiful braids on her hair; she remembered taking  _ turns  _ with her mother and making a mess out of the Queen’s hair; she remembered playing makeup with her father,  _ on  _ her father. She remembered quietly sitting with her parents in the private library of the palace, each doing their respective chores,  _ together _ . She remembered laying on her parents’ bed when she was a child, so scared of her nightmares she was; she remembered laying on her parents’ bed when she was a teenager, being comforted by the grace of her mother and the serenity of her father after she suffered her first heartbreak. She remembered—

“Grand Moff Tarkin once invited himself to a private dinner my parents were hosting with a few of the leaders of the rebellion and I saved him from learning about my parents’ involvement in rebellion by breaking into tears after my mother accused my father of having an affair with Mon Mothma.”

She poured the words out, barely breathing between sentences, and gasping once she was finished. When Leia brought herself to open her eyes again, Padmé was staring back at her with such a perplexed face that it was impossible not to break into laughter.

So, she did. The both of them.

“Your mother accused your father of having an affair with Mon Mothma—” Padmé said again, giggling, trying to fully process the story. “Does Mon Mothma know?”

“She was there.”

“She was there…!” Padmé chocked out, amused and amazed at the same time. “I wish I could have been a fly in the room just to see your father blush. He was such — a  _ prude.  _ Women — and men — would shamelessly flirt with him in the Senate, yet he wouldn't even notice it. He only ever had eyes for your mother.”

Leia laughed again. 

“If you think my father’s reaction was priceless, imagine the look of horror on  _ Mon Mothma’s  _ face,” Leia said, and Padmé snorted. “Even if everybody but Tarkin knew it was an act, it was all so —  _ awkward _ .”

“It mustn’t have been easy to sit there and hear your mother accuse your father of adultery.”

“Hence the tears,” Leia reminisced, “ _ Even  _ if I knew it wasn’t true. But picturing my father and Mon?  _ Ew _ .”

Padmé chuckled, so did Leia, and their brief euphoria slowly came to an end.

Still, Padmé smiled.

“Do you feel better?”

Leia leaned slightly back, the happy smile on her face turning into a sad one. “Yes. Surprisingly — I do.”

Padmé gently brushed loose strands of hair away from Leia’s face.

“Things end. Everything ends, and it’s always sad. But everything begins again too, and that’s always happy. Be  _ happy _ , Leia.”

Putting on the strongest face she had to offer, Leia nodded.

“Today, you’ve taken the first step towards the future,” Padmé said, “I am incredibly proud of you, Leia.”

Compressing her lips on a thin line, Leia nodded again.

Then, Padmé broke all contact and her gaze fell down; her mission there was over, she had offered Leia every piece of wisdom she had acquired across the years, and she could now go on with her life without a heavy conscience that she had left her daughter behind hurting. She could go, walk away from a half mended relationship that had brought her more misery than joy in the span of months. She could, even if she didn’t truly want to go, and part of her heart would still be left behind.

Leia looked down as well, starting to anxiously fidget with her hands over her lap. Her heart beating heavily on her chest; she wasn’t good with addressing her emotions aloud, she never had been, but she urgently understood it was time to grow up.

“I don’t want you to go.”

Next to her, Padmé essentially stopped breathing.

“Leia—”

“Please don’t go,” Leia cried, her voice small and broken again. “I can’t afford to lose you, too.”

Padmé’s eyes glistered.

“Okay,” Padmé conceded, even if it felt wrong to go. “I won’t go—”

Leia raised her hand in the air to stop Padmé from talking. Although a little taken aback, Padmé did.

“You’ve done all the talking so far. Now it’s my turn,” Leia determined, even though her eyes remained glued to the mattress underneath them. “Ever since you came into our lives, I’ve been determined to show you that your presence here hurts, that you’re a breathing reminder of everything I lost. While there’s still truth at that, it’s not the whole truth, no. Your presence here — numbs the pain, it grounds me, and instead of offering you my gratitude, I only ever made you an outlet for all my sorrows. I don’t know how to apologize, I don’t know how to make this  _ right _ . I’ve been terribly cruel to you, when you weren’t at fault for anything that happened during the war, when you were a  _ victim  _ yourself. You never deserved any of the things I put you through.”

Padmé chewed on her cheeks before she lost control of her emotions. Still, she didn’t say anything, only listened.

“What I’m trying to say is — I’m  _ sorry.  _ I’m sorry for lashing out at you at every chance I got, I’m sorry for viewing you as my sole enemy when you were only trying to help. I’m sorry for hurting you,  _ willingly  _ hurting you. I was wrong, on all accounts, to treat you crudely when you only gave me strength, when you only showed me kindness and understanding, day after day, even when you were under no obligation to do so. You said you were giving me a second chance today, even though I don’t deserve it. I’ve already hurt you so badly that I don’t  _ deserve  _ your forgiveness. Yet, here I find myself praying for your forgiveness, because I need you, Padmé. I don’t want you to leave because I need you,  _ my mother _ .”

Padmé brought her hand to her mouth before a wail escaped her throat —  _ her mother _ .

“Can you  _ forgive  _ me, mother? I promise you I will do better, I will  _ be  _ better, for you and for everybody else. So, can you forgive me?”

_ Mother.  _ After everything they had gone through, all the pains and misunderstandings, Leia had accepted her as much. 

Leia knew that Padmé would never replace the parents she had lost on Alderaan, even Padmé was intrinsically aware of it. But it was okay — Leia could have more than one mother.

It almost felt too good to have  _ two _ .

Unable to hold herself back any longer, Padmé launched herself forwards and caught Leia on an unexpected hug.

“I  _ forgive  _ you, Leia.”

When first tense and still at the suddenness of the embrace, Leia remembered her promises and wrapped her arms tightly around Padmé’s waist. Accepting comfort just as she was offering it.

“Thank you,” Leia whispered, resting her forehead on Padmé’s shoulder.

Padmé kissed the top of her head while running her hands up and down Leia’s back. Overwhelmed, but grateful that, after everything, after all the pains and sorrows of the past two decades, it all started to feel  _ right  _ again.

“I… I need to get ready,” Leia said after a while. “Mon Mothma… must be waiting for me. I need to do a press conference, to release a statement addressing everything that was said by the Empire.”

At last, Padmé pulled back, although she left her hands on Leia’s arms. “I know it won’t be easy, but you can do it.”

“I can do it, I think I can, ” Leia nodded. “Still… I would like, if it isn’t asking for too much…” she cleared her throat, struggling with her words. “Would you be there with me?”

Padmé’s eyes widened at the request. Her surprise sent Leia into a panic.

“I know you have nothing to do with Alderaan, but… You’ve helped me, today and everyday else. You’ve helped me try and cope with my feelings regarding the disaster, and although I can’t say that my guilt has been magically erased… You’ve  _ helped _ , and so did hearing my father’s last words. He would want me to carry on the fight, carry on the  _ light _ , so that’s what I’m going to do. My father knew that I had been the reason that the Death Star had been brought to Alderaan, yet he chose to forgive me, to send me  _ his blessing  _ to live the rest of my life. To honor his name and the name of every Alderaanian as I live. So that’s what I’m going to do today, that’s what I’m going to say in my speech. Still… I would like you to be there. Not for me, but…  _ with  _ me.”

Smiling proudly, Padmé gave her arms a strong squeeze.

“It would be my honor, Leia.”

Relieved, Leia nodded; she could breathe again.

She got up; gathering all her strength when just earlier that day she thought she had no strength left, Leia got out of bed with her head tall. She walked towards the vanity, where her makeup and all her hair apparatus was, but before taking a seat to start to get herself ready, she picked up the comb and turned back towards Padmé.

“Would you do my hair?”

Then, there was no restraining of her smile. The greatest form of bonding between women in Alderaanian culture was crafting each other’s braids, and although Leia wasn’t aware that Padmé knew as much, she had still asked her to,  _ trusted  _ her with one of the greatest forms of prestige according to her traditions.

Unintentely, Padmé repeated, “It would be my honor, Leia,” and it was true; an honor even greater than standing with Leia during the press conference.

Leia smiled, grateful, and sat down.

With confidence, Padmé followed towards the vanity and picked up the comb. “A braid, yes? How would you like it?”

Leia took her time to think, fidgeting through her makeup as Padmé carefully brushed her hair.

“I was thinking… A high bun updo, with an upside-down braid,” Leia elaborated, widely gesturing with her hand around her head. “To enhance the back of my neck.”

“Hm. I think I can do that. You’re gonna look beautiful,” Padmé acceded, starting to work her fingers through the length of Leia’s hair. Only when she was dividing her hair in half that the realization came to her, and color immediately left her face. “Your scars—”

“They want to know about my complicity on the Death Star,” Leia spoke gravely, the veil of the cold, calculating politician falling over her. “So, I’ll show them. I want the world to  _ see  _ what the Death Star did to me.”

Padmé swallowed uncomfortably; she had assumed that was how Leia had gotten her scars, but hearing its confirmation didn’t bring her any comfort. “I think that’s very brave of you.”

Anxiously, Leia fiddled with the skin foundation on her hands — she didn’t feel brave, nor confident. The concept was there, but putting herself out there and actually going through with it seemed so —  _ scary. _

That would be more than she had ever revealed to the public eye.

Still, she forced herself to say, “Yeah.”

Padmé noticed the insecurities coming from the princess, and she understood. Occasionally, under the excuse of giving her hands a break from the braids, Padmé would rest both of them over Leia’s shoulders and would discreetly try to rub away her tension. She couldn’t know if it’d work, but she hoped it would serve as some consolation.

“Was that your first encounter with Vader?”

Leia was so distracted within her inner solitude that it took a few moments for Padmé’s words to find their meanings. 

“Hm? Yeah. I mean —  _ no _ , I had seen him before, in the Senate, I—I had talked to him,  _ diplomatically _ , before, but… Yes. By all means, that had been my first encounter with the — the real Vader.”

Padmé’s hand brushed close to Leia’s neck; Leia shivered.

“It must have been terrifying.”

Leia sighed, clasping to her silence.

“The first time I saw —  _ Vader _ ,” Padmé choked out the name with disgust, “I didn’t know he wasn’t Anakin anymore. Well, I  _ knew _ , I had been told as much, but I just didn’t want to believe it. I  _ couldn’t  _ believe it, refused to. That was the man I had fallen in love with, the man I had chosen to spend the rest of my life with; how could I believe that he had suddenly become — a monster? We were expecting a baby—!” 

Padmé expired breathlessly; the memories of that day would always haunt her.

“I followed Anakin to Mustafar, and there I confronted him,” she continued, noticing how Leia’s reflection in the mirror had suddenly become frozen. “The things he was saying — about how powerful he was, about his craving to rule the galaxy — I didn’t recognize Anakin. That  _ wasn’t  _ Anakin anymore, and I knew I had lost him forever. He asked me to join him in his new Empire, but I couldn’t. How could I, when I had fought for democracy ever since I was just a teenager? I forsook my love for Anakin that moment, and he saw it as the greatest betrayal against him.”

Padmé drew in a sharp breath.

“He tried to kill me. Through the Force, he grabbed me by the throat and began to choke me. I—I couldn’t breathe, I saw the world going dark around me, and  _ all  _ I could think — my baby, please don’t kill  _ my  _ baby. Because you weren’t his baby anymore; only mine. No  _ father  _ chooses to strangle the mother carrying their unborn child to death. My last thought was of you before I fell unconscious, I — I don’t even know if Anakin still  _ knew  _ that I was alive. When I woke up again, you had been taken from me, and I was certain that Anakin —  _ Vader  _ had killed you. Had stolen you from me.”

Padmé forced her hands to be steady; she couldn’t afford to mess up Leia’s hair.

“In a way, he had.”

She focused herself on the braids, forbidding herself of sparing  _ Vader  _ a second thought. She hated Vader with every fiber of her being.

Ironically enough, those were the same fibers that still endlessly loved Anakin.

“I just — you never asked me about it, Leia. I can’t tell if because you respect the privacy of my trauma, or if you were too afraid to learn even more of Vader’s cruelty. Still… I think you should know. I know that you’re well aware that Vader hurt everybody that came on his way across the galaxy, but… It still hurts, to know of the crimes he committed against you, against me, against Luke, against Han — and just because he also hurt the rest of the galaxy, maybe even more than he hurt us, it doesn’t make our pain any less justified.”

Abruptly, Leia picked up her powder brush again, starting to apply makeup over her face too fast. Padmé felt bad for inflicting such a distressful reaction upon her daughter, but she wouldn’t take back her words. It was time they both acknowledged aloud all of Vader’s doing.

The mother gently squeezed Leia’s back again, wanting to remind her where she was and that Vader was long, long dead.

Even if he would haunt their family forever.

Leia tried to find comfort in Padmé’s small gesture.

“Vader tortured me,” she burbled aloud, surprising even herself. She hadn’t expected her own words.

It was Padmé’s turn to become still; she wasn’t stupid, she had always known something  _ bad  _ had happened to Leia during her captivity, that the imperials would have done everything in their power to get her to talk, but — even in her darkest dream, she would never have thought that  _ Vader  _ would have seen to Leia’s torture himself.

Leia,  _ their daughter. _

“I — tried to believe they would respect my diplomatic immunity for as long as I could. I tried to  _ fool  _ myself, for I knew of my fate the moment Vader boarded my ship and killed everybody but me,” Leia said in a low voice, still frantically working with her makeup to give her mind something else to  _ do  _ than to think of her revelation. “I had heard about the torture droids before, about how they were built to deliver unimaginable pain. Worse pain than any known disease or wound, but… It had always been just a concept. I—I never thought I would be on the receiving end.”

Unaware of her own movements, Padmé’s eyes descended to the scars on Leia’s neck. Her heart ached.

“It — the droid found my most sensible areas, mostly, my neck, and my spine, and pumped drug after drug into me. Drugs designed to decrease my pain threshold while also forcing me to stay conscient, so even the slight stumbling of my toe would bring me immense agony. Only then… did the real torture begin.”

Leia’s chest rose and fell rapidly with oxygen while she meticulously worked with her eyeliner. Forcing any discomfort at the mere memories back to where they came from, ignoring the writhing of her leg just as her body had once writhed on the dirty floor of the Death Star, where she had begged and screamed for a mercy that never came for what felt like endless hours.

“Vader only entered my mind after I was weak from the things they did to me,” she whispered, her throat hoarse, having finished one eye and going to the other. “He knew I wouldn’t reveal anything while I was still strong to my senses, so he stole all my senses away from me. I did not break, Padmé, I swear I held tight to my convictions no matter how much it hurt.”

“I know,” Padmé hummed softly — as if she would think any less of Leia if she had come to tell the information they sought after being subjected to the most inhumane forms of torture! 

Leia grew restless when she was done with her makeup and she had nothing else to entertain herself with. She was left with no choice but to stare at Padmé through the mirror.

“It’s just — what gets me the most, sometimes, is that he could spare Luke in the end, but he couldn’t spare  _ me _ ,” she said, fingers now tapping against the wooden vanity. “Luke is so determined to show me how there was still good in him, that he came  _ back _ , but if there was still good in him, then he wouldn’t so mercilessly torture his own daughter. Would he?”

“I don’t know,” Padmé admitted, ignoring the knots on her stomach as she forced herself to finish fixing the high bun on Leia’s head.

“Me either,” Leia breathed out, now clasping her hands together to stop herself from twitching her fingers.

Padmé fixed one last pin on her hair bun so it wouldn’t easily crumble down before she leaned down next to the princess, holding eye contact through the mirror.

“Leia. Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” Leia said, taking a deep breath in just to prove as much. “I’m… I’m glad I told you, though.”

Smiling sadly, Padmé placed her hand on the small of her back.

“You look beautiful, Leia,” she said, and although Leia blushed, she accepted the compliment. “Is there something we can do to take your mind off things?”

“Y—Yes,” she hesitantly concurred. “Talk dresses with me?”

Padmé nodded; that much she could do.

And talk dresses they did. Binding their time, completely ignoring how Mon Mothma must have been losing her mind the longer it took Leia to show up. Until they settled on a white long-sleeved dress, a white dress with a low back that would give the perfect sight of Leia’s scars to anybody that dared to open their eyes and  _ see _ . A white dress representing both the innocence that had been ripped away from her during her stay at the Death Star and the peace she had worked so hard to bring to the galaxy. 

They were ready to finally depart when Leia turned to Padmé again, and for once in the entirety of their relationship, she didn’t try to be or act like the taller person.

“I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come for me today,” Leia confessed, referring to her lowest point, to the  _ ruin  _ she had brought upon herself. A feeling so degrading that she had honestly believed she would never willingly stand again. She had been wrong. “So, above everything else, thank you for rescuing me when I needed saving the most.”

Tenderly cupping Leia’s cheek, Padmé pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Leia coyly smiled, and with their heads high, they both walked out of there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do confess that writing about leia's torture made my toes tingle lol
> 
> let me know what you think!


	40. Thirty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: this chapter holds references to sexual assault; nothing explicit, but still there.

Princess Leia Organa would attend the press conference being prepared for her, sure.

First, though, she needed to speak to her brother. She needed to at least try and make things right with him again before she could make amends with the entire galaxy at large.

And if that caused the press conference to be even more postponed than it already was? Then so be it.

Hence why she suddenly found herself in the squadron’s lounge, looking for a particular blonde blue-eyed boy that tended to blend in with the crowd, even though there was nothing ordinary __ about him. She found him sitting on the couch, apparently trying to make small conversation with Marlow while Marlow looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but next to the rebellion’s hero.

Leia gently laughed; she saw a lot of potential in the young girl, Marlow would only need to work past her timidity issues first,  _ especially  _ if she wanted to follow Mon Mothma’s steps into a public political career. 

The constant chatter in the room started to die down when the pilots came to notice her presence there, even though she had been trying to blend in. The sudden silence was all it took for Luke Skywalker to look up and find his twin sister standing by the entrance in a fancy dress and arms crossed under her chest. He made eye contact with her and left his stare there.

“Everybody, clear the room.”

Her tone carried tenderness while also commanding everybody out, and it didn’t take long for pilot after pilot to walk past her. Leia briefly looked at Marlow, and Marlow understood the order applied to her as well. She got up.

“Your Highness,” Marlow greeted her, bowing before the princess. Leia only wished she would stop doing that.

“Padmé is securing us a landspeeder in the main hangar so we can follow to the Senate. Meet me there.”

Marlow nodded and left the room.

Then, there were two.

They stared at each other for a while until Luke grew uncomfortable and dropped his gaze to his lap.

Leia sighed.

“I hope I haven’t caught you in a bad time?”

“No,” Luke said. “I was just biding my time, you know, talking to Marlow, but — I don’t think she likes me. At least, she  _ definitely  _ didn’t want to talk to me.”

Leia snorted. “She’s just shy, especially when interacting with big heroes. I’ve known her for months and I still can’t get her to stop bowing before me every time I see her.”

Luke chuckled, but the sound was hollow.

Sighing again, Leia closed the door to fully assure nobody would interrupt them. When she turned back around towards her brother, she found him with his jaw fallen down, his eyes bigger than she had ever seen them.

Leia grew slightly uncomfortable under his stare.

“What? What is it?”

Upon realizing what he was doing, Luke’s gaze dropped again.

“N—Nothing,” he stuttered. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a press conference?”

“It can wait,” Leia assured, walking towards the couch where he was sat and awkwardly took a seat next to him. “I can’t afford to go out there when my mind isn’t in the right place.”

By then, they were both looking ahead, barely acknowledging each other’s presence. “Is that why you’re here?”

“Yes,” Leia nodded. “I wanted to talk — to you.”

“Talk?” Luke seemed perplexed, “Or yell?”

Leia grimaced. Her brother had every reason to be angry at her, but his anger when she had come after him to try and make amends only made things harder.

“I am —  _ trying  _ to do the right thing here, Luke.”

Her voice was a mixture of smoothness and shyness; somehow, it had been enough to calm Luke.

“Sorry.”

“You’re not the one who needs to apologize,” Leia shook her head. “I am. And I will, but — I wanted to have an honest conversation with you before it came to that.”

Pursuing his lips on a thin line, he agreed.

Leia turned so she would be staring at her brother’s side profile.

“I couldn’t sleep last night. By the end of the day, I was simply  _ exhausted,  _ from the things the Empire said I’m responsible for, from my fight with Padmé, from my fight with  _ you _ ,” Leia reminisced with a heavy chest, although she kept from informing him of her father’s message. That message belonged to her and her only. “Yet, I couldn’t fall asleep. There was too much on my head, and I couldn’t turn my mind off, no matter how much I tried. No matter that there wasn’t anything more I wanted to do than — sleep. Just sleep.”

For the first time, Luke dared to look at his sister again. His anger had been replaced with something else — pain? Worry? Guilt? Leia couldn’t quite tell.

“Is that why you disappeared today?” he asked, “Because you — you were tired? It’s not like you to forfeit on your duties, Leia, and for a moment — I was really worried for your wellbeing.”

His eyes were ahead of himself again.

“I still was, until I saw you coming in here,” he admitted. “I knew you were still —  _ alive _ , I could feel as much, but—I couldn’t feel anything else.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” Leia apologized earnestly. “I never wanted to worry any of you. I was just  _ so tired _ , Luke—”

“—That you thought of giving up?”

Leia made a face. “No, I wouldn’t say I was thinking of it. I  _ felt  _ like it, I felt like giving up, but I never thought about it. Ah — I don’t suppose this makes much sense.”

“No, it does,” Luke sadly concurred. “After I learned that Vader was my father, I often felt like that, too.”

Leia smiled sadly at that. At the end of the day, they were still no more than two children traumatized by what their father had done to them.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about our first fight when Padmé came back to us,” Leia commented, and Luke made a face at her choice of words; whenever Leia spoke of Padmé’s return, it was always  _ when Padmé came into the picture,  _ or  _ when Padmé appeared,  _ but never —  _ when Padmé came back to them.  _ He wondered what had suddenly changed, and he couldn’t help but want to smile at it, too. “I know that, back then, lots of things were said in the spur of the moment, things that we didn’t truly mean, but… they still had their share of accuracy.”

Luke scowled, trying to remember the day. Truth be told, they had engaged in  _ a lot of  _ fights, most of them turning out to mean nothing, and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly which one she was referring to.

“You told me, very clearly, that if I ever ended up  _ alone _ , it was because I wanted to,” she reminisced. “Then, yesterday, you said that I drive away anybody who could possibly care for me.”

Luke swallowed roughly. “Leia—”

Leia held her palm up. “You were right, on both accounts. I’ve been so absorbed in my own grief that I pushed away every good thing that came to me, and I pushed away  _ everybody  _ who tried to help me. I hurt you, and Padmé, at every opportunity I could, and that wasn’t right of me. That was selfish, and entitled, and you both deserved better. You  _ deserve  _ better.”

For reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t quite enjoy hearing her explanations. “Leia, it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not,” Leia said firmly. “You can’t enable this sort of behavior coming from me, or from  _ anybody  _ else, without ending up normalizing it. Luke, you’re the gentlest soul I know, you’re the most caring and the most loving person I’ve ever had the honor of meeting, and you shouldn’t allow people to take advantage of your best traits. You  _ can’t  _ tell me it’s okay right after I’ve hurt you, otherwise I’ll continue to hurt you because I  _ know  _ you’ll still grant me absolution by the end of the day.”

“I know you’d never hurt me  _ willingly,  _ Leia.”

As to prove a point, Leia picked him up by the arm, right where he had gotten a nasty cut the night before when she brutally pushed him away.

“ _ Ouch _ —okay, I’m listening.”

“Thank you,” she said, letting go of his arm. She breathed out, “I’ve hurt you more times than I can remember. That was always cruel of me, that was always —  _ evil _ .”

She breathed in like oxygen was broken.

“Looking back on my deeds, I’ve come to realize something,” she spoke sadly. “Luke… I never thought I could hate you, but I do. I hate you, because… You inherited all the good in  _ her, _ whereas I only got the bad — in  _ him _ .”

Luke clasped his hands together, feeling so small and vulnerable under her confession.

“Hatred is too strong an emotion to waste on somebody that you don’t like.”

“I guess,” Leia anxiously nodded. “But that’s the thing, isn’t it? It would all be incredibly easy if I didn’t like you. If I didn’t —  _ love  _ you.”

He felt his eyes watering. 

“I love you too,” he said, still not daring to look at her. “But if I may — I think you got a lot from Padmé’s  _ goodness,  _ too. I think we’re both an amalgamation of the two of them. And I think that’s what makes us so — unique.”

Leia smiled again; her brother, so clumsy with words, yet saying the most beautiful things. 

“I like that.”

Awkwardly, Luke gave her knee a gentle squeeze.

Their brief interlude lasted too little; they still had too much to work through before they could be alright __ again. 

“I didn’t come here to try and excuse my actions,” Leia started again, leaning on her thighs once he pulled his hand back to himself. “Still, I would like you to  _ understand _ —”

“I understand,” Luke was quick to assure, “You don’t have to explain yourself, Leia. I understand, I truly do.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Leia said softly. “Luke, you’ve got back the two parents you’ve never known. I’ve lost the two parents I’ve  _ ever  _ known. And it hurts, Luke, to see Padmé every day when I’ll never get to see  _ my  _ parents again. My parents, who were my whole world, who were stolen from me when they still had so much to live.”

Luke reluctantly nodded. She was right — he couldn’t relate to that.

Padmé was the mother he had dreamed of every night when he was a child; she brought back the warmth that he had always longed for, and he dreaded to lose her again.

“Padmé isn’t at fault for that, even though I’ve blamed her for it more times than I can count. Than I can  _ redeem  _ myself for,” Leia continued, eyes gazing down at the floor. “Yet, for reasons I cannot fathom, Padmé absolved me of my every misdeed. I guess… For the same reasons that you chose to redeem Vader. Because you were both desperate for a love that was unrighteously stolen from you.”

Luke nodded again. “You’re not Vader, Leia.”

“No,” she concurred. “I still hurt you and Padmé, for the sole reason that I was  _ hurting  _ and I needed to lash out, so I made you an outlet for my own sorrows. From what I’ve come to understand about Vader… He chose to bring immeasurable pain to the galaxy all because he was hurting from all his losses. Essentially, that’s what I’ve done to you.”

Luke crossed his arms; he didn’t appreciate the comparisons, not when Leia’s deeds were  _ so small  _ in comparison to the things their father had done.

“Well,” he spoke in a grave voice. “I forgive you.”

“I haven’t apologized yet.”

“I’d forgive you even if you didn’t.”

It was Leia’s turn to place her hand on his upper arm. “That’s not how it works, Luke.”

He sighed.

“Although I’ve come to —  _ understand _ Vader’s pain,” Leia prompted, “I still can’t forgive him, and I hope you can respect that. I know it comes as a little hypocritical of me, to be here praying for my brother’s forgiveness when I won’t ever,  _ ever  _ redeem Vader, but—”

“You’ve never hurt us like Vader hurt you,” Luke spoke on her behalf, and Leia shyly nodded. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Leia, not for that, anyway. For what’s worth, I will never forgive him for the things he did to you and Padmé, either.”

Wrapping her arms around her torso, Leia made herself small.

“What about the things he did to  _ you _ ?”

Luke shrugged as if they didn’t matter at all — even though Leia  _ knew  _ they hurt Luke more than he was willing to admit.

Respecting his personal space, she let it go.

“Yesterday, I wasn’t in a good place,” she confessed, then scoffed at herself for pointing it aloud when Luke already knew. “I will always carry the burden of what happened to Alderaan, but hearing the Empire saying those things, accusing me of being complicit in such big destruction when all my life I’ve been fighting to make the galaxy  _ good  _ again — it was like a blow to my chest, and I couldn’t breathe. Yesterday, I was trapped back inside the Death Star, with no hopes of ever escaping it. Even though I knew I was  _ safe,  _ I didn’t feel like it, and every second into the future was another terrifying second wondering how they would choose to hurt me next.”

Leia cleared her throat from the lump there starting to form; she could do it, that was her  _ brother,  _ the one person she didn’t have to be afraid of being vulnerable with.

“So… When you sneaked up behind me… and you placed your hand on my shoulder…”

Luke brought his hand to his mouth in a quick display of shame and despair. The memories of his visions from the last time he had meditated came back to him and he felt like the worst person ever, both for doing it and for lashing out when he clearly had been in the wrong.

“I thought you were Vader.”

“You thought I was Vader…!”

They spoke at the same time, and Leia frowned as she didn’t know how he had jumped to that conclusion. Still, from the new wave of emotions in his voice, she could tell that the assertion had deeply hurt him.

“It’s not — that I think you’re anything like Vader,” Leia tried to repair her statement. “When I was aboard the Death Star, they… they made me watch. Watch as they destroyed my home, I mean. And Vader — Vader secured me by my shoulder, to make sure I wouldn’t look away, and his grip was so tight that it bruised me for  _ weeks _ . You’re not Vader, Luke, but you—you can’t  _ touch  _ me when I’m not expecting it, much less when I’m having a bad day. I can’t control my triggers or my reaction to them.”

Luke turned to look at her, his eyes shining.

“I’m  _ sorry,  _ Leia—”

“You didn’t know,” unlike him, she couldn’t bring herself to face him.

“No, but I—” he choked on his words, “I  _ knew _ . I knew, yet I did it anyway.”

“What are you talking about,” Leia mumbled, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable at his insinuations. “I never told  _ anybody  _ that.”

“The Force showed it to me,” Luke said, “A few days ago.”

“Oh,” Leia was surprised; she didn’t know how she felt about the  _ Force  _ showing other people her private turmoils. “Why?”

“I would say — the Force wanted to prevent me from making any mistakes,” Luke suggested, a little embarrassedly. “Unfortunately, I did not know how to interpret it back then.”

Reluctantly, Leia nodded.

“Did it show you anything else?” Leia asked coldly, her back rigid. “Regarding me, I mean.”

Looking at her side profile, Luke noticed the tension on her jawline and wondered whether she was referring to the door that the Force had shown him, but out of respect for his sister, he hadn’t opened it.

“It showed me the depth of your guilt for Alderaan,” he said instead, a blow of air escaping Leia’s lips in relief. “I know that it can’t be easy for you, especially when the Empire tries to use your liability to diminish everything that you’ve achieved — even though you’re not at  _ fault _ .”

Leia shivered. She wasn’t there to talk about  _ that _ .

No; she needed to save all her strength regarding Alderaan for the press conference she was still required to attend.

Likewise respecting her discomfort in talking about  _ that _ , Luke let it go.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Leia.”

“You didn’t hurt me—”

“I did,” he interfered. “I might have not done it physically, but I hurt you nonetheless. Even worse, I  _ scared  _ you, then I threw a tantrum over it, calling you selfish and all sorts of things when you were just doing your best to  _ stand _ .”

“You didn’t know, Luke,” Leia said. Even if some sort of  _ Force  _ had tried to warn him, she believed she could only rely on the tangible: having told him of her triggers herself. She wouldn’t fault him for that. “Besides, I  _ did  _ hurt you. Physically, I mean. I pushed you so violently that you stumbled back and cut yourself. You had every right to be mad about it.”

He looked at the small wound on his arm; it now felt so small and insignificant in comparison to everything they were talking about.

“Something has been bothering me, actually, about that,” Luke said, eyes still glued to his arm. “Just before I left you — I told you, very plainly, that I didn’t  _ care _ .”

Leia drew in a sharp breath.

“That isn’t true. That will never be true,” Luke whispered. “I have never cared for anything or anyone more than I care for  _ you _ , Leia. Nothing will ever change that. I regretted the words the moment I stepped out of your room.”

“It’s okay. We both said and did things we didn’t mean,” Leia assured. “Luke, I am  _ so sorry  _ that I pushed you. I’m so sorry for all the hurt I’ve brought you as of the past months. You’re my twin brother, you’re my better half. You’ve always been kind and patient with me and I lashed out at you at every chance I got, and yet you never gave up on me. Back on the Death Star — you found your way back to me on the worst day of my life, and it was like the Force was trying to give me something  _ good  _ to rely on to make up for all the pain from losing Alderaan that I was enduring. Ever since then, you’ve been this giant force in my life, you’ve given me  _ strength.  _ You came into my life when I needed you the most, and I’m sorry for all the times I’ve been emotionally unavailable when  _ you  _ needed me, as well as I am sorry for every time I willingly or unwillingly hurt you.”

The apology came, so Luke could finally say with his whole chest, “I  _ forgive  _ you, Leia.”

He said it so easily as if it had never mattered at all, and Leia wanted to laugh.

“I guess I couldn’t really sleep last night, either,” Luke confessed. “I hate being on bad terms with you. And I  _ hate  _ not knowing how you’re feeling.”

He referred to their lost Force connection; Leia shivered.

“I know you’ve always been shut off to me, that you’ve always valued the privacy of your emotions to keep your walls up, but… I hate not being able to tell if you’re alright anymore,” he said with a heavy heart. “So much has happened as of late, and you’ve been much more concealed than usual, and I don’t know what to  _ do _ . I know I’m supposed to give you space, to respect your boundaries, but… it’s hard, especially when I’m so used to know how you are at all moments.”

He frowned at his own words.

“I don’t mean to be creepy, though.”

Leia snorted; that was the brother she had fallen in love with. 

“There’s been a reason, actually, as to why I’ve been so drawn off as of the last few weeks,” Leia admitted with a low voice, fidgeting with the fabric of her dress over her thighs. “I’ve always tried to run away from my problems, from my  _ traumas,  _ to ignore them in the hopes that they will magically go away. Pretending they didn’t exist, for a while, for a  _ long  _ time, even though it was doing my mental health more damage good, was my coping mechanism. Until Padmé started to unravel me layer by layer — and I don’t mean that in a bad way, not at all — and I started to… come face to face with everything that has happened in the course of the past few years. Admitting my traumas aloud gave me the chance to think about them, more than I would like to, and… Well, I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s been  _ good _ , but I’ve got to think of them and remember things — that were not okay.”

Luke’s heart thundered fast inside of him; he wished his sister would look at him again, although he understood how hard it must have been for her.

“I’m going to tell you something that — only Han and Padmé know about it so far, and even so it took me a long time to tell them,” Leia carried on, forcing the words out. She did not enjoy talking about it at all, although she knew she  _ had  _ to. If she and her brother were ever to have a completely healthy relationship again, she needed to trust him enough to be open with him. 

Luke gently placed his hand on her back; if he couldn’t offer her some of his strength through their mental connection, then he would do his best to give her some physical comfort. Because — he knew what she was referring to. The door that the Force had shown him and he chose to walk away to preserve his relationship with his sister. Even if he didn’t know the details, he knew how much those events had scarred her.

“It’s okay, Leia. You don’t have to tell me,” he said, feeling her shiver under his touch. “You’re not under any obligation to tell me about your turmoils. So long as you’re  _ alright _ , that’s all that matters.”

“No, Luke,” she interrupted, slightly leaning forward to escape his hand on her back; luckily, he seemed to understand her aversion to his unwelcomed touch and drew back. “I need to tell you, because… You’re part of it, too. And as I tell you, I need you not to cry. You can cry afterward, once you’re alone, once I’m out of your sight, but… You can’t cry to me, Luke, because I can’t be the strong one when I’m in a place of vulnerability. You can’t cry because this is about  _ me _ , and how I feel—how I  _ felt _ . Do you understand?” 

Pushing all his fears and anxieties deep inside of him, Luke searched for her eyes and did not speak until she found in herself to look at him again. 

“You can trust me,” he promised, “I’ve got you.”

He smiled, even if he was hesitant to do so.

She found solace in his gentle eyes and easy expression, choosing to focus on them as she started to speak.

“What I’m about to tell you — is one of the things that hurts me the most. It hurts differently than Alderaan because this was a crime committed against  _ me _ , against my body, not against my people and my loved ones, like Alderaan was,” she started, stumbling on her words and not caring if she didn’t make that much sense. “This concerns what happened on Tatooine, what happened after Han’s rescue went wrong and we were held prisoners. What happened until morning came and you arrived to rescue us.”

Luke nodded uncomfortably; the memories of that day never got easier, despite how much time had passed ever since then.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, “To make it easier for you.”

“You can listen,” she demanded, a little too harshly. Her eyes would occasionally drop back to her lap and she had to force them on her brother again. “Luke — I was sexually assaulted at Jabba's palace.”

Leia had been right; the tears came to his eyes the moment he heard her words. He had always assumed that she had received the worst treatment when chained to that disgusting slug, but never  _ that _ . His hand made its way to his mouth as he forced any choking sounds back inside his throat, as well as forbid his tears from falling.

Because Leia was right — this wasn’t about him.

Leia watched his reaction closely. Telling him had worried her the most, regardless of how difficult it had been to say those words aloud every time. Padmé was a woman, she understood the depth of undergoing sexual trauma despite never having experienced it herself. Han had worked for Jabba, he had seen the horrors of the galaxy beforehand, and somehow he had known — or at least inferred — what had happened long before she had brought herself to tell him. But Luke — she was scared for his reaction.

Especially when the way he had acted during his rescue of theirs had bothered her the most.

“I can’t believe it, Leia” Luke mumbled, indignant; he couldn’t believe such a terrible thing would happen to his sister. There was a strange ache coming from his chest, one that he had never experienced before — and he thought he had already experienced  _ everything  _ in his short-lived life.

Making a face, Leia pulled slightly away from him. Was she  _ truly  _ fucked up in the head or had her brother just admitted that he didn’t believe her?

Widening his eyes at her sudden reaction, Luke struggled to understand what he had done wrong. He hadn’t cried, although he very much wanted to. Had she interpreted him in the wrong way?

“Leia— _ fuck _ , that’s not what I meant,” Luke cussed. “Of course I believe you. I will always believe you, and I’m sorry I made you think otherwise. I would never discredit your words, I  _ promise.  _ I just — I can’t believe that happened to you, Leia…! You’re my sister — nothing bad should  _ ever  _ happen to you.” 

Her cheeks blushed and she made herself smaller, embarrassed. Hating her brain for making such a quick assumption when that was her  _ brother.  _ What was wrong with her?

“I’m sorry,” she apologized in a quiet voice. “I don’t know why I reacted like that.”

“Don’t apologize,” Luke demanded gently. Doing his best to keep his anger hidden inside of her, as he feared she would misinterpret his reaction and think he was angry at  _ her _ when in reality — his anger resided with all the people that hurt her, and if they weren’t already all  _ dead,  _ he wouldn’t put it past him to go back to Tatooine and kill them all. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Doing her best to let it go, Leia pulled one of her legs under her. 

“There’s something else, actually, that I need to talk to you about,” she said hoarsely. “But it’s not going to be easy to hear.”

Although frowning, Luke nodded. Honestly, he doubted he would ever hear anything as bad as her previous confession.

“This concerns your initial attempt at rescuing us from Jabba’s palace.” she continued, looking down. Talking about this while making eye contact with him would be impossible _.  _ “And the way you…  _ acted  _ towards me. The way I felt there.”

Luke tilted his head, unsure of where she was going with that.

“There’s no easy way to put this, so I’ll just be blunt,” she warned him. “Luke — when you came to rescue us, I was chained to Jabba, posing as his  _ sex slave,  _ and you didn’t even look at me…!”

“Of course I saw you there, Leia,” Luke said, a little taken aback. “How could I not—”

“Exactly! How could you have  _ not  _ looked at me?” Leia threw his words back at him, her eyes filled with tears. “Your own sister, your  _ best friend,  _ stripped almost naked in front of thousands of perverted eyes who wanted nothing more than to finally have their  _ chance  _ with me. Stripped away from my dignity! How could you have not looked at me, Luke?”

Luke swallowed uncomfortably; he didn’t know how to answer that without making it about him.

Leia pressed her lips on a thin line upon his silence.

“The way you treated me back then —  _ hurt _ , almost as much as what they did to me,” she spoke gravely, struggling to keep her emotions together when she couldn’t afford to ruin her makeup. “No, I think it hurt just as much. I had just undergone one of the worst nights of my life and, when you arrived, I thought to myself —  _ finally _ , finally a friendly face that’s going to make all of this a little less difficult. Instead, I was only met with your complete disregard for me. You didn’t look at me, you didn’t even address me. It was always  _ Han and his friends,  _ but never me, your sister being displayed as some sort of possession, some sort of  _ prize _ right in front of you. When I look back on that day, more often than not  _ that’s  _ what gets me the most.”

It suddenly became very hard to breathe; that was not how he’d intended to be perceived back then, not at all. However, he didn’t know how to address it without making it  _ worse _ .

“So, that’s that,” she continued, extremely bothered by his silence. By then, her voice had become small, barely proof of all the life she carried inside. “I’ve been struggling with that for a long time now, but I’ve always kept it to myself because I didn’t want to hurt  _ you _ . But Luke — back then, you hurt me, and if we’re ever going to have a healthy relationship, then we need to be honest with each other. Today, that’s the terrible truth I have to offer you, and I  _ hate  _ that this is going to hurt your feelings, but I can’t apologize for that.”

Anxiously, Luke tapped his foot against the floor, rubbing both his hands across his thighs.

“I… I don’t know what you want me to say, Leia.”

“Anything!” she exclaimed, a little louder than she had intended. “ _ Anything _ , really. Your silence is troublesome. Your  _ silence  _ makes you complicit in the oppressing system that  _ allowed  _ me to be there in the first place.”

“Okay,” he clasped his hands together, trying to think of the gentlest words. “I would like to start by saying that I  _ knew  _ something bad had happened the moment you went radio silent after infiltrating Jabba’s palace. Back then, I still didn’t know you were my sister, but we already shared our Force bond, even if neither of us was truly aware of it. I… I  _ felt  _ your pain, I felt your suffering, even though I didn’t know the reason behind it. Had Han died or had something worse happened, I didn’t know. So, when morning finally came and I reached Jabba’s palace and I found you like that… Leia, my heart broke seeing you like that. The way they had made you dress, and that undeniable sadness in your eyes… It was unbearable to witness. And I know how  _ selfish  _ that sounds, after all, I wasn’t the one going  _ through  _ the things they made you do, but… I couldn’t look at you, otherwise, I would break down. And I  _ needed  _ to remain strong, to be on the top of my game. I needed to get you  _ out  _ of there, Leia, I needed to get you into safety again, and that was the only way I knew how to do it. I didn’t look at you not because I didn’t care for you, or had little regard for you. On the contrary. Leia, I care for you more than I care for myself, and I know how reserved you are as a person, and out of respect for you, I didn’t look at you — because I was afraid of how uncomfortable it would make you when you were forced to dress like that. Back then, we found ourselves in an impossible situation, and that was the best way I found to get through it. But I sincerely apologize that I made you feel like that, that I didn’t care for you. I’m sorry that I hurt  _ you _ , Leia, and that you had to carry this burden with you all this time. I’m sorry that the memory of my mistreatment of yours has been hurting you ever since.”

Leia’s lower lip started to tremble as she listened to him, her heart beating fast on her throat. How could she have interpreted it so wrong? How could she ever think that her brother would ever treat her as anything other than the most precious thing in his world? What was  _ wrong  _ with her?

“Leia, you’re not at fault for feeling that way,” Luke added, feeling a sudden increase of her guilt through the Force. “You have this  _ awful  _ characteristic of thinking you’re responsible for everything, and that’s far from the truth. You’re not to blame, Leia — not for Alderaan nor for this.”

Sniffing discreetly, Leia forced herself to nod. 

He sighed, looking at her when she refused to offer him her eyes. 

“Since we’re talking about  _ this _ , can I just say how much it  _ pained  _ me to have seen you so silent back then,” he reminisced sadly. “All throughout the rescue, and the attack, you didn’t utter a single word, and that bothered me the most because you’re never one to be quiet, regarding  _ anything.  _ You’re always adamant to make your voice heard, and it was like they had stolen your voice from you. And here you are, silent again, because you think it was your fault when it  _ wasn’t.  _ Please don’t be silent, Leia. Don’t be silent ever again.” 

Leia weakly smiled at that; she appreciated his words more than anything.

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Thank you,” he said, a goofy grin taking shape on his lips. He extended his hand towards her, hoping she would be comfortable enough to accept it.

She stared at it hesitantly, then intertwined her fingers on his and let out a loud exhale.

“No, thank you,” she said, at last looking at him again. “I confess to being terrified of telling you, and how you’d react and… I’m glad I was wrong.”

He gave her hand a tight squeeze. “I’m sorry if I ever made you think you couldn’t come to me.”

She nervously nodded. “It’s just — Padmé is a woman, you know? She  _ understands.  _ And Han, well, he was just so kind and sweet and I knew I could trust him unconditionally the moment he stopped me from trying to have sex with him because he knew that I was unconsciously doing it for the wrong reasons. But you… You love so deeply, Luke, your love for those close to you is your greatest strength and I  _ knew  _ you wouldn’t take this easily, that it would hurt you and it would make you angry. But even if it did, you still put me first, and I thank you for that.”

“You don’t have to thank me for being a decent human being, Leia.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Still. You never made it about yourself. About how angry you were that this would happen, or how hurt you are that this  _ happened _ . From my side of things, that makes all the difference.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you, I truly am,” he said. “You didn’t deserve to go through that.”

“No woman does,” she smiled sadly. “I’m relieved I told you, Luke. It’s like — one less weight off my chest. I don’t want the galaxy as a whole to know about this, they aren’t entitled to know of my every burden, but… I’ve come to understand the importance of telling my close family about it. To have people to rely on when I need, and to have people that still love me all the same, and don’t look at me differently because of what happened. You, Han, and Padmé are this family to me. You’re more important to me than I’ve ever demonstrated.”

“Thank you for trusting me, Leia,” he declared. “I know it mustn’t have been easy to deal with this on your own, so I hope you’ll come to me if you ever need me. If you need to talk or if you just don’t want to be alone with your thoughts — I promise I’ll be here.”

“I know.”

Out of her element, Leia leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. Feeling warm and  _ home  _ when he embraced her and she was reminded of how much she relied on her connection with her twin brother, and how a part of her had been missing ever since she broke their Force bond.

Remembering all that she had lost, she closed her eyes and held him tighter.

“Luke,” she whispered his name. “I think I am ready.”

“Ready for what?” he questioned, still holding her close.

“To restore our bond.”

He was surprised, and when she pulled back, he saw all the determination written in her eyes.

“Are you  _ sure,  _ Leia?” he asked nonetheless. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. And if you’re not  _ ready _ , it’s okay. We can wait, it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to  _ me _ ,” she said harshly. “Luke — it’s been too long.”

“It has.”

“I can do it. I’m certain that I can.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she repeated, showing more nervousness than she had anticipated. “How do we do this, then?”

He turned completely on the couch so he was half sitting on his legs and facing her.

“Alright. I want you to close your eyes and focus on the veil of Force. The Force is your ally and it has accompanied you throughout your entire life; now, you just have to listen to it and find it.”

Bringing her hands to her leg, she straightened her back and did as she was told.

“Good. Now, open your mind. Allow yourself to connect to every part of this giant world that binds us together. Allow yourself to become one with the shroud of the Force. Feel everything, from the tiniest creature to the most powerful one. And when you feel  _ me _ , let me in.”

So, Luke closed his eyes too. When he touched the Force, he found her presence stronger than ever, and he reached out to her. His ethereal energy found its way to her; it felt like coming home.

Leia sensed the presence of her brother; she knew it to be him, so familiar to his print she had once been that she could easily find him. She felt him reaching out, and she opened herself to him. She lowered the walls around her mind and he came to meet her.

He entered her mind, looking for her, and Leia’s heart started beating faster. The all too familiar sensation of having someone probing through her mind, through her most private memories, made her panic;  _ she couldn’t do it. _

“Stop. Luke,  _ stop _ .”

Luke immediately pulled away upon hearing her words. When he opened his eyes, he found her with her head buried in her hands. He leaned forward to touch her before realizing that wouldn’t be a good idea.

“Leia, it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not,” she cried, desperately. “I want you back, I  _ need  _ you back with me, Luke. Vader isn’t supposed to ruin  _ this  _ for me, too.”

“It’s okay,” he repeated, “You’re just not ready yet.”

“I am ready!” she shouted, lowering her hands. Her eyes were red. “Luke, I  _ am  _ ready to reestablish our Force bond.”

“But you’re not ready for me to enter your mind,” he laid it out for her. “Vader did too much damage to your relationship with the Force when he entered your mind without your consent, you still carry too much trauma regarding that. I  _ can’t  _ restore our bond when you’re still afraid of the Force, I refuse to. It will only bring you further harm.”

Looking down, Leia breathed heavily. “I need this, Luke. I need this normalcy again. I need something  _ good  _ to come out from the Force again.”

He sighed, thinking of what else he could do.

“Well…” Luke tilted his head, an idea suddenly coming to him. “Why don’t  _ you  _ try to reach out to me instead?”

Leia frowned. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, “You’ve already done it so many times, whenever you looked out for me when we were still connected. It’s the same thing, you’ll only have to find me first.”

Leia swallowed roughly. “You think I can do this?”

“I’m certain,” Luke assured. “You’re very strong in the Force.”

She sighed and closed her eyes again.

Leaning on the cloak of the Force again, she didn’t have too much trouble looking for him. There he was, calling for her, and she reached out to touch him. She sensed his familiar warmth, and she heard his invitation. Drawing her in, calling her home.

She touched him, and just like that, they became one.

When she opened her eyes, she smiled. So did he.

“It worked.”

Proudly, Luke nodded.

“I can feel you with me again,” she beamed happily,  _ too  _ happily. 

She was complete again, and it felt  _ good _ .

“ _ I don’t ever want to lose you again, _ ” she communicated with him through their newly established bond. Testing boundaries, but also speaking with him about things that belonged to them only, and nobody else was allowed to hear it.

“ _ You never lost me, to begin with _ ,” he replied, offering her a reassuring smile. “ _ Sometimes, we have to get a little lost to find each other. Sometimes, we have to take a step back to truly find ourselves. _ ”

Leia smiled; Jedi wisdom suited her brother all too well.

“I want to give you something,” Leia abruptly said, immediately after pulling a pendant from under the fabric of her dress and unclasping it from her neck. She placed the japor snippet on his hands.

“Padmé’s necklace,” he exclaimed, surprised. 

“Anakin made it for her when they were just children,” Leia said, watching him as he fascinatedly twiddled with it. “She gave it to me a while ago, to help me better understand where I came from, and how my roots don’t dictate my identity.”

Listening to her, he couldn’t remove his eyes from it. “And it worked?”

“Yes,” she admitted. “It helped me more than I thought it would. Now, I want you to have it.”

Hesitantly, he flickered his eyes between her and the pendant. “Are you sure? I can feel how much this has aided you.”

“I’m certain,” Leia assured, reaching out to him and closing his hand around the japor snippet. “I hope this will bring you the same comfort as it did me when I needed it. I hope this will help you make sense of your existence, and how our blood ties don’t mean  _ anything  _ in the grand scheme of things. We choose our own journey, not our ancestry. And when you feel like you’ve gathered everything you could from it, you can give it back to Padmé.”

Assenting, Luke brought the pendant close to his chest.

“Thank you, Leia. I will cherish this and look after it with my life.”

Chuckling slightly at his overreaction, Leia bowed with her head.

“Well, I think I should go,” she said. “I still have a press conference to go through.”

“Wait, before you go,” he urgently placed his hand on her upper arm to impede her from leaving. “I’d like to ask you something… If it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable to answer…”

Although she frowned, she permitted him to proceed with it.

“When you walked in… I couldn’t help but notice the, ern...” he gesticulated around the back of his own head. “Your scars.”

“Oh,” her hand unconsciously made its way to the back of her neck, concealing the red lines forever perpetuated on her skin. Still, she waited for him to enunciate what was troubling him.

“I couldn’t help but wondering… Worrying, really,” he struggled with his words. “Did you do that to yourself?”

Leia’s eyes widened.

“That would be a terrible place to hurt myself.”

Unlike her, he didn’t find her remark amusing.

“No, Luke…” she sighed, bringing her hand back to her. “I’m afraid that’s just debris from the Death Star.”

Luke chewed on his inner cheeks, thinking — had Vader done that to her?

The answer came to him far too easily.

“It’s just — I’ve never seen them before.”

“I never wanted them to be seen,” she explained. “I always hid them away with my hair and with my clothes.”

He nodded. “Are you ashamed of them?”

“No, not ashamed,” she quietly replied. “I’m not proud of them either.”

“I understand,” he said, “I feel the same with my mechanical hand. I’d like to say that it doesn’t bother me anymore, but… It does. Not because I lost it, but because of the way I lost it, that it was just another attempt of my father’s at hurting me. And he  _ succeeded.  _ My hand is a reminder of the monster that my father once was, and I’ll always carry proof of his evilness in the palm of my hand.”

Sadly, Leia agreed.

“Someone wise once told me that our scars don’t dictate where we’re going, only where we’ve been,” she reminisced a conversation she had had with Ameera such a long time ago. “I’d like to believe that’s true. I’d like to believe we are more than the hand that our father took from you, or the marks that our father left on my skin.”

“Is that why you’re showing your scars today?”

“In a way,” she nodded. “I want the galaxy to  _ know  _ where I’ve been, and that I wasn’t there out of my own volition. If they still choose to turn a blind eye and accuse me of being complicit in what happened to Alderaan, then they’re no better than the ones that tortured me and destroyed my home out of their sick pleasure.”

He reached out for her with the Force, offering a comfort that no words or physical gestures could provide. Leia smiled gently at his effort.

“Do you want me to be there with you?” Luke asked, referring to her press conference.

“No, it’s okay,” she said. “Padmé’s already coming with me, and… I’ve got you back with me, anyway.”

Snorting, he agreed, and stood up after she did.

She was ready to leave, but she refused to before giving him another hug of gratitude. This time, their height difference was borderline comical.

“Luke?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for not crying.”

He huffed again, lowering down to kiss her forehead.

When he watched her walk away, he clasped his hands behind his back and thought at her.

“ _ May the Force be with you, Leia. _ ”

Holding tight to the words echoing on her mind, Leia smiled and left the room with her head high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whelp, this was a rollercoaster of emotions.
> 
> let me know what you think!


	41. Forty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know how many times i've rewritten leia's speech this week--

Upon arriving at the conference room at the Senate complex, Mon Mothma offered Princess Leia Organa a glare enough to make Leia’s cheeks go three shades redder, silently scolding her for making them wait an entire day for her to show up; however, it soon disappeared into a soothing expression — and Leia was certain it had everything to do with a death glare that Padmé herself had thrown at Mon Mothma without Leia’s awareness.

She was thankful for it, pleased with her decision of having brought Padmé along.

“Leia, we’re happy you could join us,” Mon welcomed her with a warm smile. “I trust you to be alright?”

“I am now,” Leia certified. “I apologize for the delay.”

“You’re here now, so we can get going,” Mon instructed, handing her a datapad. “This is the speech I’ve written for. I hope it’s alright.”

Leia quickly skimmed through it, then saying, “I appreciate you taking the time to write it.”

“Of course,” Mon Mothma replied. “All right then, I’ll have them set the podium for you while you go through your speech, so I’ll call you once everything is set in motion.”

“Thank you,” Leia said simply, turning around to head towards the lounge where she would patiently away and hopefully calm her nerves — she was certain Padmé would distract her on that matter. However, she wasn’t expecting someone to loudly gasp the moment she turned on her back.

Her first instinct was to think somebody has been seriously injured, but when she saw Marlow’s face written with horror and Mon Mothma reprimanding her with her eyes and a pinch to her arm — she understood. They were gasping at  _ her _ , or, more precisely, the scars on her neck.

Although Leia didn’t blush and she didn’t balk, she suddenly became very self-conscious and started second-guessing her every decision of the day.

Almost like she could read her mind, Padmé threw her arm around Leia’s shoulders — purposefully hiding her scars from prying eyes — and guided her towards the lounge so they could have some privacy.

“Marlow is just a child,” she said once they were seated, far away from Mon’s gentle scold to her assistant. “She might be aware of the horrors of war, but she isn’t used to seeing it with her own eyes.”

“Yeah,” Leia uncomfortably said. “So was I.”

Padmé’s heart throbbed at Leia’s connotation. 

“We don’t have to do this today,” Padmé argued, “If you’re comfortable, we can just call it a day.”

Leia huffed ironically. “I’m sure Mon would  _ kill  _ both of us if we did that.”

“I can handle her,” Padmé assured her.

“No, it’s okay,” Leia said, picking her datapad again. “I’m  _ here _ . That’s more than I ever thought I would accomplish today. I can’t turn around now.”

Padmé shook her head. “If you don’t feel well enough to do this today—”

“Padmé, I won’t  _ ever  _ feel comfortable to step out into the public and talk about what happened to Alderaan,” Leia interrupted, giving her a stern look. “The longer it takes for me to say something, the more immunity I give to the Empire. You’re a politician, you  _ know  _ that.”

Padmé did, but—

“I’m a mother first,” she disputed, faking offense when Leia scoffed at her. “I’ve lived a long life, Leia. I’ve come to understand that, sometimes, our personal lives matter more than appeasing the greater public.”

“Well, in that case — I’m glad I’m still a naïve young politician.”

Padmé rolled her eyes.

Leia started going through the speech that had been written for her, occasionally grimacing and tilting her head as she read through passages. Her lips started moving as she talked to herself, although not a single sound escaped them.

Padmé watched her intently.

“You know what’s the greatest thing about genetics?” she prompted, making Leia frown at the interruption. “We see the same eyes on different faces. Right now, you’ve got the  _ same  _ expression I did whenever I was about to do something impetuous and surprise everyone in the spur of the moment.”

“Don’t be stupid, Padmé,” Leia seriously lectured her. “People like us — we never do anything  _ impetuously _ .”

Snorting, Padmé agreed.

“They’re the ones to blame for not having seen it coming,  _ obviously _ .”

“Obviously,” Leia reiterated, taking her eyes briefly from the datapad only to attempt to wink at Padmé.

Her deed failed so miserably that Padmé was horrified.

“So,” Padmé changed the subject, “How did it go with Luke?”

Although Leia was still reading through the speech, her body language showed she was far more interested with anything else. “Pretty well, actually,” she answered honestly. “We talked, and… Well, we  _ talked _ , and we were honest with each other, and… Yeah, it was good.”

She smiled. “I’m happy to hear that, Leia. I might not be Force sensitive, but — I can always tell when you two are on bad terms.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“Well, Luke becomes very moody,” she joked, although it was definitely true. “And you become moodier than usual.”

Leia snorted loudly at that.

“No, yeah, Luke and I are genuinely on good terms. For the first time in forever, I would say,” she said, talking more to herself than to Padmé. “We talked a lot, and there are no tensions left between us. At least — I don’t think there are. Yeah, we’re in a good place.”

“I’m happy for you.”

Leia smiled with the corner of her lips.

“I followed your advice,” Leia announced and Padmé listened with interest. Leia had finally accepted her, sure, but she was now also following her advice? Padmé was  _ surprised.  _ “I — I told him about Tatooine. You know?”

Padmé offered her a firm nod.

“You told me the importance of building a strong support system around me. Well, I did. I told Luke, and I also told Han a while ago, so—yeah, all my close family  _ knows _ , and I’m slightly embarrassed with myself for ever thinking that there would be anything but acceptance or compassion after I told them.”

“Don’t be,” Padmé gently reprehended her. “Those might be irrational concerns, but they’re still  _ valid _ . Your feelings regarding your traumas should always matter first.”

“Yeah,” she hesitantly agreed. “Regarding that — I also told Luke about how I  _ felt  _ from the way he treated me back on Tatooine.”

Padmé rested her chin on her hand. “That mustn’t have been easy.”

“One of the most difficult conversations I’ve ever had,” Leia confessed.

“How did it go?”

“Well — it made me realize that that whole situation was fucked up in more ways than I first thought,” she said, shivering. “We were all just trying our best, even if our  _ best  _ didn’t necessarily mean the best for everybody else.”

Padmé nodded. “You were the only one in chains, though.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “But listening to Luke’s perspective… He would never wish me harm, or do me harm, willingly or unwillingly, for what matters. We were all just in an impossible situation and we couldn’t win, not until we all got out of there safe and sound. Or, as safe and sound as we could  _ be _ .”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Well, I don’t think I will ever be okay with what happened,” she said apprehensively. “But I am okay with Luke. I think that counts for something.”

“It does,” Padmé concurred. “Hey, Leia?”

“Hm?”

“I’m proud of you.”

At last, Leia lowered her datapad. Looking at Padmé, she did her best to smile at her.

“Can I be honest with you?”

Frowning a little, Padmé agreed.

“I’m actually terrified of going out there,” Leia confessed in a low whisper. 

Upon hearing her heartfelt disclosure, Padmé drew a little closer to her.

“You’re not on the Death Star anymore,” she said, placing her hand on Leia’s thigh. “The Empire can’t harm you anymore.”

“I’m not afraid of that,” she said — she didn’t think she was, anyway. “It’s just… I haven’t been a good monarch.”

Padmé made a face, “That is far from the truth—”

“It isn’t,” Leia broke off. “I might have been a symbol of hope, I might have inspired optimism to those watching me, I might have encouraged the Alderaanians to carry on with my work for the rebellion and the galaxy at large, but… I wasn’t a good monarch.”

The mother displayed her lips flatly; she would need Leia to elaborate before she could comment on it.

“You know what was the last time I addressed my people?” Leia asked, although rhetorical. “Four years ago.”

Padmé’s eyes widened a little in surprise. She wouldn’t judge but — that was a long time.

However — Leia seemed to judge herself for it. 

“It was immediately after the battle of Yavin, immediately after  _ Alderaan _ ,” she reminisced with a lump on her throat. “Going out there and offering my people words of perseverance and hope felt so  _ wrong _ , but I knew I had to do it. It was my duty, I was —  _ am  _ — their leader, and I had to do  _ something _ . Going out there, not even a day after seeing my homeworld become space dust and forcing myself not to lose my composure — was the hardest responsibility I’ve ever undertaken.”

Padmé gently squeezed her thigh.

“I guess that’s why I couldn’t go out there again,” Leia continued. “I didn’t trust myself enough to talk to my people without breaking down.”

Then, she laughed at herself.

“Excuses.”

“Reasons,” Padmé corrected her. “Your people still love you.”

“Well, an Alderaanian loving their royals isn’t asking for too much,” Leia tried to joke. “I understand now what today stands for. I’ve repaired myself to you, I’ve repaired myself to Luke, now — I’ll get to make amends with my people.”

“Leia, you never wronged your people.”

Leia opened her mouth to remind her —  _ Alderaan, Padmé! I wronged my people when I got our home destroyed  _ — and then, she stopped herself. For the first time in her life, she didn’t allow the words to make it past her lips.

Although Padmé wouldn’t comment on it, she discreetly smiled at Leia; a smile full of pride.

“I know it mustn’t have been easy for them to hear the things that the Empire said,” Leia said instead. “We are just doing our best to thrive,  _ despite  _ watching everybody else going home now that the civil war is over when we will never get to go home again. I know that they wanted to demoralize me only, but this — it affects every Alderaanian that still lives. I wish they could have attacked me without hurting —  _ them _ .”

“You’re still their Princess, their leader. Any attack on you will always be an attack on them.”

Leia sighed. “The crux of being a sovereign.”

“What I meant was, your people love you,” Padmé said, “Just like you don’t wish harm to come on their way, neither do they want to see you hurt. The crown and the people — it’s a symbiotic relationship. One can’t survive without the other. You rely on your people’s love and faith as much as your people rely on your strength and wisdom. When you go out there tonight, remember that. Remember that you need them as much as they need you. There’s a lot of things we need to get across life, but the thing we need the most to survive is a hand to hold. Hold hands with your people, Leia, that’s what you’re meant to do. Keep doing that and don’t let go. It doesn’t make it any less painful, but it becomes more bearable.”

Biting on her lip, Leia blinked fast.

“I’ll remember that,” she said. “I promise.”

“Then you don’t need to be terrified anymore,” Padmé smiled. “If you still are? Well, then I’ll hold your hand.”

Leia gently chuckled at it and placed her hand over Padmé’s.

At last, Mon Mothma came to them, not knowing whether they were having a moment and not bothering to find out.

“They’re ready for you, Leia.”

Taking a deep breath, Leia nodded. She stood up and her hand lingered against Padmé’s for a little longer.

“Let’s do this.”

* * *

Leia Organa stood tall behind the podium, a datapad lying in front of her and a microphone at her height. In front of her, several journalists and reporters of all different species and origins patiently waited for her to begin; she recognized some of the faces, but she didn’t worry about the ones that she didn’t — she trusted Mon Mothma enough not to let any Empire sympathizers in. Besides, Leia wasn’t focusing on them; they were there to acknowledge her, not the other way around. The only people whose presence she cared for stood just behind her — Mon Mothma, another symbol of leadership in the New Republic, but, more importantly, her mother.

_ Her mother,  _ with whom she had chatted quickly while already on stage. Her mother, who had placed her hand on her upper arm when faint whispers started to take over the room when they noticed the scars that Leia was showing the world. Her mother, that had given her the most encouraging smile as Leia walked towards the podium.

Now, there was only silence. Silence as they waited for Princess Leia to begin her speech.

And when she did, she kept her chin high.

“Today, I stand before you not only as a Princess from a lost world but as your equal,” Leia’s voice rang out, clear and strong, revealing none of the insecurities that had tormented her ever since the Imperial broadcast. “When we look back upon the war against the Empire — upon the billions of lives we lost — sometimes it feels as if nothing could ever have been worth the terrible price we paid. But when we think of those people who perished in the conflict, when we think of our loved ones that no longer stand with us, it falls onto us to preserve their memory and remember that they died for justice. For liberty. For peace. We might have lost them, but we never lost the ideals that they died for.”

Mon Mothma jolted back in surprise, although she tried her best to disguise it. While keeping an easy expression and her head staring ahead, she commented to Padmé with barely a movement of the lips, “She’s going off script.”

In response, Padmé firmly nodded. Her eyes were focused on Leia’s back, on Leia’s  _ scars _ , and with a sense of pride washing over her, she said with conviction, “She’s got this.”

“Today, I stand before you not as a Princess, but as your equal. Your fellow survivor,” Leia continued, and she exchanged looks with every reporter in the room as she claimed their attention with her heavy silence. “I fought alongside you to dismantle the oppressive system that tried to silence us for so long and failed. The more they tried to tighten their grip, the harder we fought to break free. Our fight didn’t come without casualties, but every fallen soul had compromised their own safety the moment they stepped into battle in the name of the greater good. It doesn’t make their losses any less painful, but it gives us something to be proud of. They died fighting for what they believed in, and, thanks to their sacrifice, we’ve stepped out of the darkness back into the light. As survivors, we owe it to them to keep living, to make it worth what they died trying to achieve.

“Alderaan was no mistake,” she repeated the same words that the Empire had used to undermine her, and everybody in the room seemed to draw in a breath upon hearing it. “Alderaan was no mistake, except the Empire’s. They thought that, by destroying a planet that stood for peace and beauty, they would scare the other star systems into submission, and that was their first mistake. Their inhumane deeds only fortified our resistance and brought the bravest hearts to our cause. Every innocent soul that died on Alderaan died a hero, and every brave soul that emerged  _ because  _ of Alderaan became a hero.

“As the New Republic consolidates, we are in the eternal debt of these heroes. Because of them, the galaxy is restoring its path in the light again. Heroes like Bail Organa, my adoptive father and Viceroy of Alderaan, who started the Rebel Alliance alongside Mon Mothma — and __ Padmé Amidala — and bravely stood against the atrocities that happened inside the Imperial Senate and elsewhere. Had he not been so cruelly taken from us in the destruction of my homeworld, he would have seen the fight to its end, and he would proudly stand with us today. Heroes like General Kenobi, one of the few Jedi that survived Palpatine’s purge, who bravely gave his life so we could escape the Death Star with the battle station plans that allowed us to find a weakness in the Empire’s most barbaric weapon and destroy it. Heroes like Luke Skywalker — my biological twin brother, from whom I was separated at birth for our protection as the last Force Sensitive children in a new world order where the Jedi were no more — the Jedi who blew up the first Death Star and valiantly defeated Darth Vader and Emperor Palpatine before they could bring further damage to the galaxy. Heroes like every Alderaanian who was silenced in the face of oppression and destruction. Heroes like every Alderaanian who was off-world at the moment of the disaster and that never gave up, no matter how much it hurt.

“I cannot name every hero of our cause. If I could, I would, for all of them deserve to be remembered for their selfless deeds. They are in the galaxy’s debt, yes, but they’re also in mine. It has been an honor to serve alongside you.”

Leia symbolically lowered her head in a sign of gratitude and reverence. Behind her, following her lead, Mon Mothma and Padmé did the same.

Her speech, however, was far from over.

“The Empire’s first mistake was destroying Alderaan. The Empire’s second __ mistake was accusing me of being complicit in it.

“As the heir of the Alderaanian throne, I had always known of the great privilege of being adopted into my family, but that honor didn’t come without its duties. I’d always known what it would mean for me when the time came to replace Queen Breha’s place on the throne, and I was always determined to work hard so I’d be worthy of the trust and honor my parents had placed on me. I’d always known that that power didn’t come without a cost, but I was always ready to make the sacrifice to rightfully lead and serve my people.

“But I was never prepared for the cost to be bigger than Alderaan.”

She discreetly cleared her throat, hoping that would make it easier.

“The Empire accused me of standing next to Darth Vader at the time of the blast that took the life of my home planet — they did not lie about that. I had been brought aboard the Death Star, but not from my own volition. There, they interrogated me, trying to gather information about the Rebel Alliance, and they were ready to use the cruelest methods to find the intelligence they sought for. Their means led them to bring me to the spaceview where I saw my homeworld for the last time, before being forced to watch as they stole Alderaan and everything I had ever known away from me.

“I always assumed I was ready to endure the price that came with the crown. However, I was not ready for that.”

She was revealing more of herself to the public than she ever thought she would. She didn’t know if she was right to, but, at that moment, she judged that her people had the right to know. She owed them that much, and if the rest of the people of the galaxy also learned of her pains — her enemies included — then so be it.

“What we lost that day is nearly impossible to quantify. When Alderaan once stood in harmony, we now stood alone, and standing alone is terrifying. When we are children, the grownups teach us about the sadness of death, and that, one day, we will lose the people that we love and we care for, and our childish minds see it as the worst thing that could ever happen to us. But what they do not teach us — the day you lose someone isn’t the worst. It’s all the days they stay dead.

“All the days that Alderaan stays dead.”

She took a small pause to blink.

“Alderaan died before I could live the dreams that my parents had dreamed for me. Alderaan died before I could turn the dreams that I had set aside for my people during my childhood and my youth into reality. However, I couldn’t let the devastation of loss stop me.

“As hard as it is, we owe it to the dead to survive.”

She quickly scanned the room for their facial reactions.

“The memories of the explosion have always haunted me, and there isn’t one single day that goes by that I don’t feel the urge to fall to my knees from the anguish that that event has brought me. Instead, I choose to stand tall and make my ground, in the name of everyone that was forced to rest too soon — just like my parents taught me. They would want me to carry on the fight, not to avenge them, but to make their compromise  _ worth  _ it.

“As a child of the Force, I’ve been blessed with the gift of being part of something larger than myself. The Force fastens me to the grandiosity of life, just as it ties me to the grandeur of death. Although the Force has always been my ally, even before I knew it was there for me, it didn’t always bring me good. When they fired against Alderaan, they didn’t know whose children were going to scream and burn, they didn’t know how many hearts would be broken, they didn’t know how many lives would be shattered. But Alderaan was my home, it was my  _ life _ ; I was deeply connected to it, and I felt everything. When I close my eyes at night, I hear more screams than anyone could ever be able to count. I feel the anguish of every frightened child and I feel every heartbreak of my people and of my family, as if it wasn’t enough to feel my own.

“Feeling everything — hurts. However, the pain makes me stronger. Every day during the war, every day after the war as I help build the New Republic, I hold tight to my pain until it burns my hand and I say to myself — nobody else will have to live like this. Nobody else will have to feel this pain. Not on my watch.”

Leia paused briefly to gather herself; she would never forget the day they took her home away, for the weight of the world was put on her shoulders that day. Today, however, she chose to embrace the familiar aching of her heart to fuel her strength.

“To the Alderaanians, my  _ people _ , who have survived to this day. You’re not alone, you will never be, so long as you have me.”

Padmé’s words echoed on her mind, about how they were all stories in the end. So that was what she’d do; she would tell them a story.

“Losing Alderaan — it was like we lost a heart, and there was no place for the blood to go,” she started, her voice loud and grave and yet showing her every emotion. “After Alderaan died, I thought I would die too. Trying to understand what had happened, how it had happened, and  _ why  _ it had happened was almost impossible; our loss was so big and I was so small in comparison that my grief crushed me, to the point I could no longer feel anything. I thought I would die, but there were many days where I would think, what if I was already dead? I couldn’t feel anything, I was detached from the living world. It made perfect sense — what if I was already dead? Except nobody else knew, and I was walking around dead, but they could still see and hear me. Like Alderaan had died and it had forgotten to take me alongside, so I had simply died where I stood. Looking back, four years after the catastrophe, I can say that it only felt like dying because I was still alive. You have to be to feel that way. I wasn’t dead, I was just sad and grieving. I still am. 

“It took me a long time to understand, and I’m still  _ struggling  _ to understand — dead doesn’t mean gone.

“I won’t say that’s enough to heal my grief, or the grief of my people. I don’t think it will ever be. The sad reality is that pain and loss define us as much as happiness or love. All things fade — flesh, stone, even the stars themselves. It is the way of things, and we have no choice but to accept the mortality of life. Everything yields to time, and that’s very scary to the few of us left behind. The universe has to move forward, and it takes courage to move forward when your heart seems to be stuck in the past. However, courage isn’t a matter of being fearless, it’s being afraid and doing what you have to do anyway. So, to every Alderaanian out there — hold tight to your memories, your memories are who you are, who  _ we  _ are, and walk forwards with me.

“The Empire tried to demoralize me for my liability on what happened to Alderaan. Maybe some will listen to them, maybe some will believe them. They tried to diminish my fight, they thought I would run away, and they were wrong. They have tried to silence me ever since the Death Star, but they should know by now that my fire won’t be extinguished until the day I die. Perhaps, not even then. I have chosen to do the right thing the moment the choices were laid in front of me, and I’ll hold tight to my ideals. I don’t do it because it’s fun, or because it’s easy, or because it works — because it doesn’t always work. I do it because it’s right, I do it because it’s decent. I do it because it’s  _ kind.  _ If I run away, good people might die, but if I stay and stand my ground, some of them might live. Maybe not many of them, maybe not for long, but it’s the best I can do, so I will do it. And I will stand here doing it until it kills me. Who I am is where I am, and if where I stand is where I eventually fall, then I’ll fall proudly knowing that I made my stance.

“ _ That’s  _ the lesson that Alderaan taught me. Both in its life and in its death.”

She felt her eyes stinging and saw her vision become blurry. She did her best to look through her tears, but not past them.

“My parents used to tell me a story, back on Alderaan, about how I would often sneak out into the gardens of the Palace of Aldera at night when I was just a child,” she reminisced, a gentle smile appearing in the corner of her lips. “I was obsessed with lightning bugs, and I loved to watch as they flickered on and off. My parents would tell me that I’d cup one in my hands and I’d curiously watch as it lit up. Then, I’d whisper in a small voice,  _ go find your way home,  _ and I’d open up my hand and let it fly away. Just like I had found my way home that one day my father came home with an orphaned baby girl.”

She forced herself to breathe.

“To my people, to every Alderaanian that still lives — I am  _ so  _ sorry that we can’t find our way home anymore.”

Her voice threatened to break, so she took her time to recompose herself.

“But, if you’ll allow me, I’ll build us a new home. It will never be the same as Alderaan; unfortunately, Alderaan is gone forever. But, if we hold tight to our culture and our traditions, if we hold tight to  _ each other _ , we’ll find a home again. And if it still hurts too much and you can’t feel anything, it’s okay. I’ll feel everything for all of us.”

She sniffed and prayed it hadn’t been loud enough to be detected by the microphone. Or, maybe, she hoped it was. Let her people know she hurt just as much as they did.

“Alderaan has always been a symbol of light and perseverance. The Empire thrived on darkness, they feared beautiful things and that’s why they couldn’t allow Alderaan to live. But if we work together, I believe we can take the sourest aching that life offered us and turn it into something resembling beauty again.”

She held her head high and looked straight into the camera, hoping that, somewhere out there, an Alderaanian was looking back at her with equally sad but hopeful eyes.

“We are bound by our past, but we are more than our scars. Alderaan is no longer with us, but I’ve still found a place to make my stand. My people have always been my strength, and you’ve given me the  _ courage  _ to carry on and make the galaxy a better place for you. Because of that, I hope, with all my heart, that you will choose to stand with me. 

“Thank you.”

She counted to three before she dared to move and turned to leave, despite the countless voices yelling —  _ Princess Leia! Princess Leia!  _ She turned on her back, well aware that the entire galaxy now bore witness to her scars, and she walked tall out of the stage.

* * *

Leia stumbled backstage out of breath, Mon Mothma’s loud words as she wrapped up the press conference becoming nothing more than background interference. She leaned her hand against the nearest wall and forced herself to breathe.

When she had first walked out there, she had known how difficult it would be for her to follow through with it. Turned out it had been harder than anything she had expected.

And she had  _ done  _ it. Somehow, she had stood tall and made her voice heard. She hadn’t allowed the remnants of the Empire, or the pain of her past, to silence her, and that was more than she had ever hoped to accomplish.

Her brain was just catching up to the things she had revealed — Luke Skywalker was her brother? She was Force sensitive? She had been tortured then forced to watch the destruction when aboard the Death Star? — for the sake of the Force, she couldn’t believe she had uttered those words aloud and invited the entire galaxy, friend or enemy, into her life.

Regardless — it was done. She was almost happy that she didn’t need to conceal those things anymore.

“Leia,” a voice called from behind her, but instead of turning around, she waited for Padmé to come to her. “That was — That was beautiful.”

Inelegantly exhaling, Leia nodded.

“You should have seen the look on Mon’s face when she saw you weren’t reading the speech they had written for you,” she mused, expecting to get a least a slight turn of the lips from Leia. “But what you said instead — you spoke from your heart, and it brought tears to my eyes. It was beautiful.”

Leia appreciated how touched Padmé seemed to be; however, she was not the focal group that Leia was worried about.

“Do you think they will listen?”

“I do,” Padmé said. “Your Alderaanians — they’ve always looked you up for guidance. Today, you were there for them. You made yourself equal to them. They always respected you, but their deference to you will only strengthen once they listen to your speech.”

Leia nervously nodded. “I wanted to make it right by then.”

“And you did.”

“I needed to atone for my absence in the past years,” she continued, “They’re my people. I have a duty to them.”

“It was a beautiful speech,” Padmé repeated, “They’ll understand why you haven’t been present. They’ll understand because they  _ relate  _ to everything you went through.”

She nodded yet again. “Do you think they’ll forgive me?”

Padmé’s first instinct was to remind her that they had no reason to blame her; she didn’t. Leia had implied loud and clear in her speech that the reason that Alderaan from all planets was chosen for destruction was that  _ she  _ had been the Alderaanian they were interrogating, and as subtle as her implication had been, it was still there. Padmé couldn’t blame her; if Leia thought that getting it out in the open so that her people would know the exact nature of what had happened and still chose to absolve her would relieve some of the burdens she felt inside, then Padmé was happy for her.

Hence why she said instead, “I think they will.”

Leia tried to smile, even though it was a hesitant smile.

Intertwining their arms, Padmé started to walk towards the exit. After that longest day, she didn’t doubt that Leia wanted nothing more than to return to the place that most resembled a  _ home  _ for her.

“It was very brave of you to reveal what they did to you in the Death Star,” Padmé mentioned. Although she was aware of Leia publicly displaying her scars, she never thought the princess would go as far as announcing it for the whole galaxy to hear.

Leia’s response to that was complete silence, so Padmé let it go.

“I confess I wasn’t expecting you to disclose your kinship to Luke, or that you’re Force sensitive,” she prompted. “I was very surprised to hear it.”

“Luke’s my brother. I don’t want to hide him.”

She nodded. “For a moment, I thought you were going to… talk about Vader—”

Leia unconsciously stiffened her jaw. “I wouldn’t ambush you or Luke like that. This story belongs to you just as it does to me.”

Padmé understood, although she doubted it was only that. She comprehended that Leia wanted to be transparent, but she herself still had a long way before she was ready to publicly acknowledge Vader’s identity. Perhaps she would never be, and Padmé would still respect her for that.

“Padmé,” Leia swallowed hard, “I don’t want anything good to  _ ever  _ be associated with Vader.”

Of course, as politicians, they were both acutely aware that going public with their heritage would mean a whole lot more than simply connecting the twins’ innate goodness to the embodiment of evil — the backlash that such a revelation would bring would be tremendous. Still, Padmé wanted to smile at Leia seeing herself as a good person, rather than just inherently nefarious.

Unable to explain the sudden urge to feel her close, Padmé tightened her hold over her daughter.

“You achieved a milestone today, Leia,” Padmé said in a soft voice. “Your parents, wherever they might be today, I know for a fact that they’re smiling down on you. They’re so proud.”

Leia swallowed her emotions.

“Yeah? How do you know?”

“Because if  _ I’m  _ feeling that way,” she replied shyly, “I can’t begin to imagine the immensity of their pride.”

This time, Leia’s smile was full of confidence.

* * *

Leia was content to simply lean back and enjoy the ride back to the headquarters, comfortable to have reached a point in her relationship with Padmé that they could just coexist without being burdened with the necessity of conversation.

So, lean back she did, her mind devoid of any pressing concerns. Mostly, she couldn’t wait to have the longest shower, lay down in bed, and finally call it a day. Happy that her relationships with her mother, with her brother, and with her people were in the works again, so she could just rest for the night without any worries and start over the next day.

But when they landed on the hangar and Leia finally became aware of their surroundings again, there was something different. Something that hadn’t been there before and her heart sped up.

The Millennium Falcon was back.

With her eyes large and the vein on her forehead visibly pulsating, Leia stumbled out of the landspeeder, barely giving Padmé the chance to properly station it. From afar, she could see Han’s silhouette leaning against the ramp of the Falcon, somehow distracted as he chatted with Chewbacca and Luke, and, with shaky legs, she ran towards him.

Han wasn’t particularly interested in his conversation with Luke; he  _ really  _ just wanted to see Leia, and arriving only to learn she was giving some speech at a press conference had nearly broken his heart in half. So, talking to Luke and gathering some insight on  _ what the fuck  _ had happened in the course of the last couple of days was his only means to pass the time until Leia returned.

Luke, on the other hand, was very keen on detailing every aspect from the  _ mess  _ they had suddenly caught themselves on. So when his eyes digressed right past Han, something else getting his complete attention, Han frowned and turned around just in time to see Leia rushing towards him.

“Leia!”

He caught her on his arms when she threw herself onto him, her own arms interlacing around his neck and her legs around his waist — thankfully, she had chosen a dress with a loose skirt that day. Han was taken aback by her sudden display of affection when she was usually so inhibited in public. But having her so close to him again, in his arms where she belonged, he didn’t care in the slightest.

“I’m so glad you’re home.”

He buried his nose on the crook of her neck, smelling the flowery scent of her hair, feeling her close. Unwilling to ever let her go.

“I came back as soon as I heard,” he said in a low voice, fastening his grip around her waist to secure her position. 

He felt her nodding against him. “I didn’t think you’d learn about it until you came back.”

He made a face; that did sound like him.

“Well — I  _ hadn’t _ ,” he admitted, “I didn’t know about it until I met Lando to go over our contact and he asked me what the fuck was I doing there.”

Leia lightly chuckled.

“Remind me to send Lando a thanking gift then.”

Han smiled against her.

Leia pulled her head lightly back and found his sweet, caring eyes. Her fingers delved into his uncombed hair, and, before she could stop herself, she leaned forward and met his lips.

Although very surprised, Han kissed her back.

“Leia,” he mumbled, his lips red, “As much as I’ve missed you — we’re in the middle of the base.”

“I don’t care,” she said, kissing him again, “Let them see.”

“Okay, Your Worship,” he said, “I don’t know how I feel about  _ your mother  _ lurking in the back while we kiss, though.”

Leia’s neck took a one hundred and eighty-degree turn in her sudden panic, and she indeed saw Padmé there, trying to blend in and ignore what was happening by facing the ceiling but still very much  _ there _ .

Blushing in consternation, Leia untangled herself from Han and he landed her back on the ground as gracefully as he would handle a feather.

“This is why I hate having a mother again,” Leia commented loud enough for Padmé to hear, “I can’t even fool around in peace anymore.”

Behind them, Padmé snorted. Luke looked petrified that his sister would so blatantly mistreat Padmé like that. Leia ignored him.

Chewbacca walked up to her and offered her a warm hug, gently ruffling his paw over her head without dismantling her hair updo. He roared something at her, and Leia smiled.

“Thank you, Chewie,” she said, still tangled up in his giant Wookie arms.

“He’s right,” Luke stepped in, “I think all the rebels here stopped what they were doing to watch your speech. What you said, Leia — it sent chills all over my body.”

Leia chuckled at his choice of words.

“Besides,” he arched his eyebrows at her, “Does that mean we get to be twins in public at last?”

Leia gently rolled her eyes. “From all the things I wanted to carry out through my message,  _ that’s  _ what you choose to focus on?!”

“It’s a good thing that only I bore witness to your abhorrent kiss,” Han pestered them, a devious smirk across his lips. “If you’re looking to buy my silence, just ask the price.”

Padmé made a face. “Would you  _ please  _ stop reminding me of that?!”

The twins both laughed at her.

“I don’t worry much for your silence as I worry for  _ Threepio’s _ ,” Leia reminisced him, “He’s much more tendentious at gossip than  _ you  _ are.”

Just like that, the twins exchanged a worrisome look.

“He might just start babbling about it.”

“We should run a memory check.”

“Before our reputation is ruined.”

“Definitely.”

Meanwhile, Han couldn’t get rid of his devilish smirk at the sight of their panicking.

Their fuss was interrupted too soon by Padmé discreetly clearing her throat. When they all looked at her, they noticed a young girl nervously lurking behind them, dreading to disturb them and anxiously fidgeting with her hands as she waited for their little group to break apart.

Lucky for her — Padmé meddled so she wouldn’t have to wait for too long.

Leia’s previous happy expression turned into an amiable veil of serenity and calculated nonchalance at the stranger. With her hands clasped in front of her, she took a step towards the girl.

“Hello there.”

“Hi,” the girl clumsily said back, then remembered to whom she was addressing and bowed with both her head and her knees. “Your Highness.”

“You may rise,” Leia gently instructed. She was far too often interacting with people who didn’t know how or were uncomfortable to address her because of her titles, and she had learned that the best course of action was to guide them into treating her just like another human being. At the end of the day, she was no better than them, and she wished to be approachable to anyone that came on her way. “What’s your name?”

“Bria, Your Highness,” she supplied, looking at Leia’s eyes but immediately after deciding it was a bad idea, as she hadn’t been permitted to. 

“Bria, that’s a lovely name,” Leia tried to make it as easy as possible. “Were you named after the Queen?”

Although Bria hadn’t revealed her origins, Leia’s instincts — call it  _ the Force  _ or whatever — told her she was looking at a child of Alderaan. Back home, she knew that many parents named their children after the Queen and the Viceroy, and even after Leia herself sometimes, as a form of showing their love and devotion to the royal family.

“Yes,” Bria nodded. “Although they still wanted to give me an identity of my own, so — Bria it is. They had always respected Queen Breha, and they met her once — they were struggling dressmakers and the Queen personally came to their shop, and she was so fascinated with their designs that she saved them from financial doom by often hiring them to make outfits for the Court. The Queen saved them out of her kindness, as I’m certain she saved many other Alderaanians, so I was named after her. Unfortunately, I never had the honor to meet my namesake.”

Leia politely nodded. “I’m certain Queen Breha would have been delighted to meet you. My mother had the most gracious spirit, she always did her best so that every Alderaanian under her rule would thrive, even though tending to every one of them personally was never her obligation. She saw it as her duty, yes, but she did it out of the kindness of her heart. She would have been honored to meet you, to know that she somehow made a difference in your family’s life.”

“Alderaan was lucky to have her,” Bria said, and her own emotions started to weigh on her.

Her reaction didn’t go unnoticed by Leia, who turned around to meet the three male gazes so obnoxiously staring at them. “I’ll thank you to disappear.”

They grunted all sorts of onomatopoeiae upon realizing what they were doing, and bunglingly went back inside the Falcon. Knowing that she wasn’t welcomed there either, Padmé followed them.

“They mean no harm,” Leia said, “They just lack any common social awareness.”

Bria snickered at her attempt at humor and immediately after brought her hand to cover her lips, afraid she was being disrespectful.

Leia smiled sadly at that. 

“It’s just you and I here, Bria,” Leia instructed. “Children of Alderaan. I believe we can be our true selves to one another. We are more than our appearances.”

Bria shyly nodded. “It’s just — I’ve never met anybody from the Royal House before.”

“Look at me,” Leia asked, and, eventually, Bria did. “Do I look any different than any other human around here?”

“You dress nicer.”

Leia laughed loudly at that, and Bria even dared at a smile as well.

“I suppose that’s true,” she acknowledged. “Walk with me?”

Bria agreed. Leia didn’t have any particular place to be, but, from experience, she assumed the girl would be more comfortable at engaging in a conversation if she didn’t feel the pressure of looking at Leia in the eyes.

She was right.

“I was off-world the day it happened,” Bria said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. “I had just turned sixteen, so my parents gifted me with my first trip on my own to anywhere in the galaxy I wanted to visit. I was so excited to  _ go _ .”

Leia silently nodded. She remembered how excited she had been when her father had trusted her with her first crucial mission for the Rebellion, honored to hold so much responsibility while knowing she wouldn’t  _ fail _ .

And she didn’t. But she also paid the ultimate price for her success.

“I’ll never forget where I was the moment I learned about what happened. It was like the entire world crumbled down around me and I couldn’t move, or think, or breathe,” she whispered. “I can’t imagine witnessing it with my own eyes.”

Leia remained quiet. She didn’t want to share her experiences any more that day.

“I didn’t have anywhere to go after it happened,” Bria continued, surprisingly unbothered by Leia’s silence. “I didn’t know anybody off-world, I barely had any credits with me. I was all alone. So when I heard about the rebellion, and what you had done on Yavin — I knew that’s where I needed to be.”

Leia smiled sadly.

“You have to be at least eighteen to enlist as a freedom fighter for the rebellion, but when I told them where I was from — I guess they just pitied me and let me in,” she said, shrugging. “I don’t like the pity. People always stare when they learn you’re from Alderaan, it’s like they can’t see me for anything rather than for what happened,” she breathed angrily, clenching her fists, but soon let go of her anger. “I’m sure you know what it’s like.”

“I do,” Leia lamented. “It’s a thin line between honoring our past and not letting the destruction define us.”

Leia fought the sudden urge to laugh at her own hypocrisy; she  _ really  _ shouldn’t be out there advising as to how to cope regarding Alderaan.

“Yeah. Exactly,” Bria sighed. “We — the remaining Alderaanians, we try to stick together. We’re a close clique around here. We’re the only ones that understand, you know? We get to be ourselves and share our memories and, if somebody has a breakdown unprompted, we  _ understand _ , and we don’t judge, and we’re just there for each other. That’s the best we can do, and… It’s enough.”

Leia nodded, a little jealous that Bria had found a place of solace amongst the other Alderaanians when her position of power would never allow her to do the same.

“Yesterday, when the Imperial broadcast broke through… We were a mess,” Bria admitted. “They  _ wanted  _ to hurt us, and they poked through the wounds that hurt the most. Some of us cried, some of us became numb, some of us punched a wall. However… None of us believed it.”

Leia abruptly stopped walking. Any bystander would easily say she had stopped breathing, too.

Bria turned to look at her princess; this time, she was confident to do so. 

“We all heard your speech today,” she said. “There were — lots of tears involved when we heard you talking about Alderaan. Not in a bad way, but I don’t think it was in a good way either. It was all just very sad. And very beautiful too. I mean, the things you said, it was very beautiful. I never thought the right words to describe what Alderaanians go through on their daily basis existed, but you found them all. You told the galaxy at large what it’s like to grief for something greater than life itself, and you touched all of our souls today. I mean, I don’t expect the imps to relate to anything that you said, but… The rest of the galaxy, the ones that have no choice but to simply watch as history happens around them… I believe you touched their souls, too.”

Leia forced herself never to end their eye contact. Once again, she grasped to her silence.

“I’m saying this because… I don’t know why I’m saying this. I just wanted to thank you,” Bria shyly said. “Being with the Rebellion for four years now, more often than not we ended up stationed at the same headquarter or ship and… If I may be honest, Your Highness, you never seemed to have many friends, and you always looked very very sad. I understand that sadness just becomes part of who we are after we lose our home planet, but… You always looked very sad, and that’s just wrong. Because even on the worst days there’s still a possibility for joy, you know? I think it’s very important to remember that. As Alderaanians.”

Leia tried to smile; she was aware of much. She remembered how happy she had been when the Death Star had been destroyed, even though they had stolen Alderaan on the same day. Or, perhaps, the visceral reality of what had happened to Alderaan and what would happen to  _ her  _ only came to her later, after the adrenaline of battle.

“Today I understood why you looked sad all the time,” Bria prompted. “You said it in your speech. You were inside the Death Star, you were hurt there and as if that wasn’t enough, they tried to crush your spirit by killing Alderaan in front of you.”

Bria shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Preparing herself.

“Do you blame yourself?”

The question came so unexpectedly that it took Leia by surprise. Her eyes widened; she didn’t know how to answer it if not with the whole truth. After all, that was one of her Alderaanians asking her.

“Who wouldn’t?” her voice came out more flawed than she anticipated.

“You,” Bria provided. “You shouldn’t, I mean. I’ve known of you ever since I was a little toddler, and as a proud Alderaanian, I always made sure I knew what you and your parents were up to. I watched your work back home, then at the Imperial Senate, then in the rebellion. You should be proud, not blame yourself.”

Leia offered her the most genuine smile she had to give.

“I’m working on it,” she said, and when Bria didn’t seem all that convinced, she added, “I promise.”

Bria could accept that.

“For what’s worth, Princess, we don’t blame you. We never will.”

“It’s worth more than you think.”

She beamed proudly at that.

“Then I’m glad I came to see you, then. My friends said I shouldn’t, that you probably had had an emotionally devastating day and you didn’t need any traumatized Alderaanians bothering you. But I think that’s what you needed the most. Your people listened to you today, so now it was time for you to listen to your people. You said it yourself, we’re supposed to stand together.”

“You’re very clever,” Leia praised, “Have you ever thought of working in politics?”

Bria’s jaw fell open.

“Are you offering me a job?”

Leia smirked boastfully. “It’s yours if you’d like. I could use someone to shadow me. Assist me and, most importantly,  _ ground  _ me when needed. Just like you just did.”

Bria had to cover her mouth to contain her excitement. “Your Highness! It’d be an honor.”

Pleased with her answer, Leia extended her hand. “Leia.”

Suddenly past all her apprehension at interacting with her monarch, Bria took Leia’s hand. “It’s an honor,  _ Leia _ .”

Leia grinned; all things considered, Bria was handling the awkwardness of interacting with a royal far better than Ameera.

Unfortunately, Leia was forced to retract that thought when Bria suddenly choked an unexpected sob, and they were back at stake one.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!” Bria cried, both her hands now hiding her face. “I just — It’s just— I—”

Relating to the aching of the girl’s heart, Leia stepped forward and placed her hand on her shoulder. “I understand.”

Because she  _ did _ ; like Bria herself had said — nobody understood what it was like to be so happy one moment and then be hit with a wave of sadness from the things they had lost, nobody other than the Alderaanians.

“I’m sorry, I don’t wanna seem ungrateful,” Bria whispered, “It’s just — my parents would be  _ so happy  _ right now. They were saved by Queen Breha and now Princess Leia is taking me under her wings. I’ll never get to tell them that.”

Leia tightened her grip. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized for the third time, her burst of sorrow quietening down and she wept her cheeks with the sleeves of her uniform. “I understand if you don’t want me to work for you anymore.”

The princess gently shook her head. “I’m here to ground you, too.”

Sniffing, she gratefully bowed. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“None of that, now,” Leia gently lectured her, “If I get to see you cry, you get to call me by my name.”

Bria chuckled. “Fair enough.”

With one last squeeze of support, Leia pulled her hand back to herself.

“You were telling me about how the Alderaanians here all stick together and you have a close clique,” Leia reminisced. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love to meet them.”

Bria gasped in exhilaration. “Leia—They would be so happy! They all love you so much!”

Like they were already friends of ages, Bria pulled Leia by the arm and led the way towards the lounge her friends usually hung around. Giggling to herself, Leia simply allowed herself to be dragged across the halls.

If her mere presence could make her people this happy, then that was where she’d begin to build them a new home.

* * *

Out in the galaxy, somewhere in the dusk of the Outer Rim, a set of blue eyes watched a holotransmition from the Core Worlds.

Although she listened to the politician’s words, she wasn’t all that interested in what they had to say. No; she was fairly more interested in a ghost lurking behind the politician.

A ghost that she had set for dead a long time ago. Her heart pounded inside her chest; she couldn’t  _ believe  _ it.

She couldn’t believe it, so she watched the press conference over and over again, her eyes absorbing every little trait and gesture from the soul that had been put to rest so many years before.

Yes, there was no doubt about it — it was  _ her _ .

The Togruta pulled her hood over her head and started her journey towards her ship. There was only one thought in her mind — she had to go find her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bet yall didn't see that ending coming hehe
> 
> considering the amount I dedicated to writing leia's speech, let me know if you think it turned out alright <3


	42. Forty-One

Luke Skywalker woke up with a funny feeling on his chest.

He couldn’t quite explain it, the sudden tingling on the small of his back. It wasn’t a bad feeling; no, he was far too used to those that he’d instantaneously be able to tell if so. It was — a funny feeling, as far as he could describe.

He wouldn’t worry about it, the Force wasn’t giving him any reasons to. Mostly, a naïve part of him just couldn’t wait to finally discover what it was all about.

He was almost — excited. 

When talking to his twin sister about it, though — he got a whole other impression from her, and they  _ obviously  _ started fighting over it.

Like him, she wouldn’t call it a bad feeling. Like him, she was too familiar with the nature of  _ bad feelings _ , and she had reached a point in her affinity with the Force that she could easily pinpoint when trouble was about to knock on their doorstep. No; that was something entirely else.

An  _ annoying  _ feeling, she would dare to say.

“An annoying feeling?” Luke mocked her, “And what is  _ an annoying feeling  _ consisted of?”

Leia puffed angrily, insulted. “I think it’s self-explanatory.”

“Not to me.”

“And what the hell is a  _ funny  _ feeling, anyway?” she provoked.

“It feels funny on my spine. Makes it tingle.”

Leia rolled her eyes. “If that’s the explanation you’re looking for — my feeling makes me  _ annoyed _ .”

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that,” Luke grunted, “ _ Everything  _ makes you annoyed.”

“Bantha shit,” Leia gasped at his accusation. “If I give the impression that I’m always annoyed when you see me, it’s because  _ you’re  _ an annoyance.”

Displaying his lips flatly, Luke noticeably nodded with his head. “You have a really strong case going in your defense, I see.”

Leia crossed her arms. “Because you’re annoying me at this moment.”

“Obviously.”

“If you don’t want to see me annoyed, then stop annoying me.”

“And miss all this? I wouldn’t dare.”

“Then don’t complain.”

All this happened while Han, Padmé, and Ameera sat around the game table at the Falcon, playing sabacc and ignoring the responsibilities that came with the morning. If they only could ignore the  _ loud  _ bantering happening right next to them.

“Should we interfere?” Padmé asked, kicking Ameera’s shin  _ again  _ after seeing her cheat by trying to peek at Padmé’s cards.

“Are you crazy?” Han snapped, laying one of the cards over the table. “You should know by now  _ never  _ to mess with two Force sensitive people arguing.”

Ameera nodded as if she was really experienced with those engagements. “Yes, Padmé. You never know when an object might come flying over your head.”

Padmé rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know. I feel like one of them might kill the other.”

Han huffed. “Better them than us.”

Ameera scoffed. 

“I bet Leia will be the one to kill Luke today.”

Padmé reprimanded the Twi’lek with a glare.

“The safety of my children’s  _ lives  _ is not a betting pool.”

“I’m in,” Han quickly said, almost as if to annoy Padmé. “I’m betting on Leia, too.”

“You can bet for someone  _ other  _ than your girlfriend, you know,” Ameera said.

“And enter Leia’s death list?! I wouldn’t dare.”

Ameera chortled at that. Padmé grunted at the two of them.

“Come on,  _ Ma _ ,” Han teased her, “We need a counter bet.”

“Well, that’s not really fair, is it?” Padmé protested, “I have no choice but to bet on Luke or there’s no game.”

Ameera gave her a look, “Afraid you’re gonna lose?”

“ _ Afraid _ ? Please, ‘Meera,” Padmé scolded her, “I know for a  _ fact  _ that I’m going to lose.”

Smirking devilish, Han said, “It’s on.”

He said it just in time to hear Leia calling Luke an  _ idiot _ . Luke rebuked her with a harebrained argument, almost as if he  _ wanted  _ to prove her point. He only realized what he had done after Leia offered him a look, and he walked away in consternation, joining them by the table while leaving his sister behind.

“Hi,” he said, his voice so devoid of life and excitement that it got three people laughing at his expense.

“You’re done being bullied?” Ameera teased him.

Like a child, Luke crossed his arms in protest. “As if I have any control over  _ that _ .”

They laughed at him again, and Luke chose to ignore them.

“What are you doing?”

Han glared at him. “I’ll give you a hint. There are  _ cards  _ on the table.”

“We’re actually betting on which twin will make it through the day, which will not,” Ameera broke to him as blatantly as possible.

“Which twin will—Wait, you’re betting on which of us will kill each other first?”

He seemed  _ so  _ offended it was hilarious.

Then, interested, he leaned with his elbow on the table. “Soooooo, who’s betting on me?”

“Your mother,” Han stated the obvious. “Out of pity.”

Horrified, Luke turned to look at her. “Mother!”

“I’m sorry…!” Padmé nearly cried, “You have to admit the odds don’t look good for you.”

“But! You’re my  _ mother _ ,” Luke protested, “You’re supposed to have my  _ back _ .”

Padmé firmly nodded. “Which is why I bet on you.”

“You don’t have to worry, Luke,” Leia called from behind him, at last joining them and sitting over Han’s leg. “Out of pity, I won’t  _ kill  _ you today.”

He made a face. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Leia shrugged, far more interested in Han's game than in her brother’s whining.

“I think I’ll change the nature of my feeling to a  _ bullying  _ feeling,” Luke grunted.

“Suit yourself,” Leia said. “I’m sticking to mine.”

“Of course you are—”

“Hey,” Han called out the two of them, “ _ No  _ bickering on the game table. If you’re gonna keep doing it, go do it somewhere else. We, grownups, are  _ busy  _ here.”

Leia gave Luke a look to mock Han’s grumpiness, and Luke’s facial expression agreed with her this time.

Ameera then watched with distress as the two of them started making faces at each other, as if they were having a debate but no sound came out of their lips.

“What the fuck are they doing,” Ameera asked in a whisper, slightly leaning towards Padmé.

Padmé frowned at the question, but it all made perfect sense when she turned around to look at the twins.

“Oh, they’re fighting each other through the Force now,” she calmly commented. “Whatever that means.”

Ameera scowled. “Isn’t that cheating?”

“So long as there’s silence,” Han moaned, “I’ll take it.”

Then, it all changed by nightfall, when most people were already tucked into their bedrooms for the day.

That was when a loud alarm signaled all over the rebellion base, and everybody’s hearts started beating a little faster than usual.

Protocol demanded that every soldier stayed put under such an occasion until they were given further instructions by their superiors, otherwise even more chaos would enfold. However, there were those few fighters that either thought the rules didn’t apply to them or considered themselves too important not to be at the center of the action.

“We’re being breached,” Leia Organa informed her twin brother when she and Han stumbled onto him in the hall, all three determined to follow towards danger.

“Breached?!” Luke asked, perplexed, “I thought the base’s location was secure!”

“So did we,” Leia grunted, blaster safely attached to her hands, as was Han’s.

Copying their stances, Luke grabbed his lightsaber’s hilt. He didn’t activate it as of the moment, but he was ready for anything that might come at them.

So, they all started marching down towards the point of breaking.

“Maybe you want to rethink the nature of your  _ funny  _ feeling?” Leia provoked her brother;  _ clearly  _ there wasn’t a better place for an argument than the battlefield.

“I don’t  _ know,  _ Leia. What about your  _ annoying  _ feeling?” he rebuked, “Wouldn’t you say it’s a little misplaced?”

“Not really,” she supplied easily, “I don’t know about you but an invasion makes me  _ really  _ annoyed.”

Han, being a little ahead of the bickering siblings, stopped dead on his track, turned around, and spread his arms wide so the twins wouldn’t escape past him.

“You’re  _ seriously  _ going to do this right now?!”

Luke’s cheeks went three shades redder; Leia shot him a death glare.

At least, Han thought to himself —  _ they shut the fuck up _ .

The trio soon arrived by the hangar where an unknown craft was coming through. There were a few soldiers already stationed there, all with their blasters pointing at the ship, ready for combat. Luke, Han, and Leia took shelter behind a landspeeder.

“So, what’s the plan?” Han asked as softly as possible, although the whirring of the raiding ship’s engines didn’t help.

“Hit and don’t get hit,” Luke said naturally.

Han rolled his eyes. “I was hoping for a little more than  _ that _ .”

“Let’s all take a deep breath,” Leia instructed, although her body language indicated she was doing the exact opposite. “We don’t know who’s there.”

“They’re  _ attacking  _ us,” Han pointed out the obvious.

“It could be an injured pilot for all we know,” Leia prompted, “Somebody on autopilot who passed out before they could contact the command center.”

“Yeah. I ain’t taking my chances,” Han said, raising his blaster higher in the air.

Who was Leia kidding — neither was  _ she _ .

The ship’s hatch opened up, and a figure in grey flew out of there. Gracefully, like a feather dancing in the air, landing on the ground with an outstanding pose. All blasters were now pointed at them, but nobody dared to take the first shot.

The sentient being rose from their knees to a standing position; whoever they were,  _ whatever  _ they were — they weren’t afraid.

Their face was hidden by their hood, and they seemed so used to living in the shadows that they made no effort to reveal their identity. They were tall, and their stance suggested they had some combat training. What attracted Luke’s attention the most, however, wasn’t the way they stood.

It was the shining gadgets hanging by their waist.

He was hiding behind the ship with his sister and friend; then, he was in the middle of the hangar, right in front of the stranger, lightsaber activated and its green glow lightening the place.

The intruder, however, didn’t seem much in the mood to deal with Luke.

“Out of my way,” they demanded, their voice thick and echoing throughout the entire hangar.

Luke made a face, tilting his head. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

They rolled their eyes. 

“There’s no time to play swords, little boy,” they belittled him. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Luke pointed his lightsaber at them when they tried to take a step ahead.

“I said, you’re not going anywhere,” he reiterated, “Not until you’ve stated who you are and what you’re doing here.”

They crossed their arms, showing defiance.

“That’s a nice lightsaber,” they said, “Whom did you steal it from?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Luke frowned, “I made it myself.”

They scoffed, and both their hands made their way to their lightsabers; like they were  _ ready  _ for this young boy to do something rather stupid.

“That’s unlikely,” they said. “You’re just a child. The Jedi don’t exist anymore and kyber crystals are almost impossible to find. You wouldn’t know how to, nor be able to.”

Luke shrugged. “Yet, I did.”

Surprised with his provocation, they grabbed their lightsabers and activated them; now, alongside the green glow, there was a white light all around.

Luke tried to compress his bewilderment; he had never seen white lightsabers before, and he was almost mesmerized by them.

“I don’t know who you are, but you should get out of my way,” they demanded. “I have pressing matters to attend here.”

“I don’t know  _ who  _ you are, or how you’ve managed to come here,” Luke rebuked, “I won’t let you pass until I know I can trust you.”

“ _ Trust them _ ?” Han spat, stunned. “They’re threatening our security. Luke should just strike them down.”

“Luke’s got this,” Leia assured. “He knows what he’s doing.”

Han offered her funny eyes. “You’re telling me you’re still not convinced of their obvious intention of ravaging this place?”

“I… I don’t know,” Leia confessed, insecure with her own self. “There’s something —  _ odd  _ about them, I’d say. I don’t feel anything bad coming from them, so I doubt Luke would feel something else entirely. He’s just — assessing the situation the best he can.”

All things considered — Han rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe he had spent the entire day bearing with the twins’ bickering over their  _ Force  _ feelings only to have the two of them team up now.

The figure in grey seemed to consider him for a moment, and when they finally spoke, they made sure to keep their lightsabers in place.

“Alright, then. I’ve come for Padmé Amidala.”

Luke’s eyes widened and his blood was now fueled with something other than his innate kindness and compassion. Before he could stop himself and further control his emotions, Jedi Luke Skywalker struck forward.

The stranger, caught by surprise, used both their lightsabers to defend themself from his attack.

“You will not take her!”

Luke attacked them again, maneuvering his lightsaber in the air like his Masters and his enemies had taught him. Never once yielding to the stranger and allowing them to find their balance. They knew how to handle their blades, sure, but they hadn’t been expecting Luke’s wrath to come at them at full force.

Luke would cut and thrust at them relentlessly, the sound of their lightsabers touching echoing all over. Eventually, the creature’s hood fell from their head, revealing their characteristic lekkus and the markings on their face. The sudden glimpse into their identity was not enough for Luke to fall back.

He didn’t care anymore; all he knew was that he  _ couldn’t  _ lose his mother again. He had lost his parents at birth leaving an everlasting wound on his heart, so that he was so desperate for parental love that he sought it on Darth Vader of all people. Even then, he lost his father again. Now that his mother had come back for him, he wouldn’t stand by idly as they threatened to take her away.

Nobody would ever steal her from him again; that much was a promise.

The creature dodged to their side, avoiding his strikes. They weren’t as determined to attack them back as they were to simply deflect their jabs. There was  _ something  _ about him that they couldn’t quite explain, but they felt it — they felt it all.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Leia turned around after having the fright of her life, only to find Padmé crouched behind them.

“What the hell are  _ you  _ doing here?” she hissed, “It’s not safe.”

“The same argument could be applied to you,” Padmé mumbled under her breath, leaning her hand on Leia’s shoulder to slightly push herself up to get a better picture. “Wait—”

When Leia looked behind herself again, Padmé was no longer there.

“What the hell is she doing,” Han grunted as he noticed Padmé going past their blockade directly into the battlefield. “She’s going to get herself hurt, or  _ worse _ .”

“Fuck,” Leia cussed, and before she could stop herself, she was sneaking after Padmé, ready to shoot at anyone who might try to hurt her.

“Leia—”

Padmé walked towards the battle with her head high and hands in the air, stating she was coming peacefully. She wasn’t afraid; she knew that her son would sense her approaching —  _ and so would the stranger. _

She walked until she made herself seen, and when both sets of eyes were on her — although their blazes were still in contact — Padmé spoke as loudly as she could.

“Ahsoka?!”

Luke stumbled black, looking at his mother in confusion. His hands still grasped tightly to his lightsaber; he was  _ terrified  _ of letting go and losing his mother in the process.

Meanwhile, Ahsoka deactivated her sabers and her composure became serene again. She waited for Padmé to come to her — she wouldn’t dare to go to Padmé herself and risk the young boy trying to strike her again — and when Padmé did, they smiled at each other.

“You always knew how to make an entrance,” Padmé joked softly, their arms meeting in a warm gesture.

“What can I say,” Ahsoka huffed, “I learned from the best.”

“That you did,” Padmé agreed with a nostalgic grin before stepping forward to fold her on her embrace. “My goodness, you’ve grown.”

Ahsoka snorted; suddenly, she felt like a child again.

The commotion around them started to die down — all thanks to Leia easing the soldiers back into their quarters and alerting the High Council that the threat was nonexistent. Only then did Luke allow his guard down and put away his lightsaber.

The stern expression on his face, however, did not abate.

By the time the old friends pulled apart, it was just the five of them standing in the now empty hangar.

Han seemed to be rather annoyed to be in the middle of the trouble when trouble turned out to be nothing. Meanwhile, the twins didn’t look pleased  _ at all _ .

“What are you doing here, Ahsoka?” Padmé asked although she couldn’t deny her happiness.

“I watched the press conference,” Ahsoka provided, “And I saw  _ you  _ there, so I knew I had to come to you. I should have expected you wouldn’t have stayed put in some Outer Rim world as I told you to, instead finding your way to the middle of the combat.”

Nodding, Padmé put her hand on her shoulder; they could get into details later. 

“I’m so happy to see you.”

There was a conspicuous clearing of throats behind them, and both ladies were forced to break apart and look behind them.

“Which brings us back to the question,” Leia said with her voice strong, making them know that she had pried in the entirety of their brief interaction. “ _ How  _ did you get here? The location of this secret base is top secret, known to few only.”

Because, in comparison to all the Alliance’s hidden bases spread across the galaxy, the one they were at was the smallest of them all. It had to be if they planned on regaining political power from the bureaucratic center of the galaxy; therefore, only the members of the High Council and the intelligent command were lodged there, besides a few squadrons and battalions for protecting the brightest minds behind the rebellion in case their location was made.

“Turns out I’m one of the  _ few _ ,” Ahsoka offered briefly.

Leia didn’t seem all too pleased with her answer.

“Would it have killed to announce those other  _ few  _ that you were coming?” Leia snapped, “Would have spared us a lot of trouble.”

Again, Ahsoka shrugged. 

“Mon Mothma was asleep.”

Padmé chortled at that, then quickly tried to disguise it as a cough.

Leia scowled at her.

“He could have killed you,” Leia pointed at her brother.

“I can handle myself.”

With a frown, Padmé gazed at her son. “Why did you launch at her? I didn’t see the whole thing, but I noticed that you were having a civilized discussion beforehand.”

Luke’s eyes resembled death. 

“She said she was here to take you. Padmé.”

Padmé shivered at the animosity in his voice.

“No,” Ahsoka was quick to debunk, “I said I had come for Padmé.”

“What else was I supposed to have inferred from that?” Luke snapped. “You come here unannounced, chaos unfolding at your mere presence. I don’t know you, you were deflecting my every question before you  _ threatened  _ Padmé. What was I supposed to do?”

Ahsoka crossed her arms. “I didn’t threaten Padmé. Padmé is my friend.”

Luke puffed ironically. “I can see that.”

Leia placed her hand on her brother’s arms, trying to soothe his edginess. Clearly he wasn’t reacting very well to — whatever the hell that was.

“Well,” Padmé cleared her throat. “This started off with the wrong foot.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Luke,” Leia gently reprimanded him.

“Alright,” Padmé tried to go past the tension in the air. “Why don’t we start over?”

And then, a grim took over Padmé’s face. Now past her initial euphoria, she remembered  _ all  _ the things from her past and who these people were to her. Starting over wouldn’t be any less stressful.

Leia was quick to notice the sudden shift on Padmé’s face. “What is it?”

“It’s just,” Padmé looked down on her feet, “I realize the conversations we’re about to have aren’t going to be easy.”

The twins exchanged a sideways glance, one of those looks that they could easily interpret everything that the other was thinking; was everything in their lives supposed to be so damn  _ hard _ ?

Han was the first to strode away, taking them all by surprise.

“Where are you going?” Leia shouted for him.

“To the Falcon, obviously. Where else have we ever had our little heart to hearts?” he belittled, clearly mocking the simple prospect of more  _ Skywalker family drama.  _ He carried on walking, never once bothering to look over his shoulder. “I’ll start running the kettle, yeah? Make us some tea to calm the nerves before the shouting starts.”

The twins went after him without giving it a second thought. Padmé and Ahsoka gazed at each other, and although Padmé attempted to smile, nothing was reassuring there.

* * *

Once they were all sitting down, cups of tea in their hands, it was very hard to make eye contact. They all relied on Padmé to start talking, which only made her more uncomfortable to be there.

She couldn’t explain how it was possible to be extremely happy to have these three people back into her life while also dreading their presence.

“Well,” she eventually started speaking, once the silence was borderline unbearable. “Maybe we should start with introductions?”

“That might be for the best,” Leia replied sardonically, although her sarcasm went unnoticed by Padmé.

“All right, then,” she took in a sharp breath and gestured towards the Togruta. “This is Ahsoka. An old friend. I met her during the Clone Wars.”

Ahsoka frowned discreetly at the simplification of her description.

“Ahsoka, these — ah, well, this is  _ Han _ ,” she decided to start with the easiest one, the one that held no blood ties to her.

“Delighted,” Han grunted, seemingly wanting to be anywhere else than through  _ another  _ family turmoil. Padmé knew he would never leave Leia alone, though.

“And this is,” her finger twirled in the air, as she considered  _ how  _ she would present the twins. “This is Leia. Princess Leia Organa. I don’t know if you’d remember, but…”

Ahsoka’s eyes widened and her jaw fell down.  _ Of course  _ she remembered; how could she forget?

“Oh.”

Leia furrowed her brows together. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Ahsoka diverted her eyes to the table separating them, “I’m so sorry for your loss. For Alderaan.”

Suddenly extremely uncomfortable, Leia crossed her arm and leaned slightly towards Han. She remained silent.

“I was friends with your father,” Ahsoka confessed with a hoarse tone, “He was the one to lure me into the rebellion, long before the rebellion was even solidified. I never met you before but… More often than not I would walk into your father talking to you on the comm, you were so attached to him and you were the center of his universe. When I heard about Alderaan, I was devastated to know of the great friend I had lost. Bail was an exceptional man.”

“Thank you,” was all that Leia could utter in response. She wasn’t comfortable with someone prying on her childhood conversations with her father, especially when she herself couldn’t remember them, so her defiant face remained.

Recognizing Leia’s hostility, Ahsoka dropped the matter.

“And this is,” Padmé’s index was now pointing to her son, “Luke Skywalker, you know—”

“The Jedi who defeated Palpatine and Vader,” Ahsoka complemented, a trace of bitterness in her tongue when she spoke the latter name. “So you didn’t steal the lightsaber, after all.”

“To your dismay, no,” Luke replied coldly. “I built it myself.”

“Not to my dismay,” Ahsoka mended softly, “It is always a great honor to meet a Jedi, but you can’t fault me for having my suspicions when the Jedi haven’t been for over two decades now.”

“Yet, here you are.”

“Oh, but I’m not a Jedi.”

Luke frowned. “Where did you get your lightsabers, then?”

“I stole them,” Ahsoka smirked, the sudden shock on Luke’s face making it even funnier. “Worry not, Luke. He was a very bad guy.”

“A sith?”

“An inquisitor,” Ahsoka spoke gravely.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what that is,” Luke admitted, slightly embarrassed.

“They were an organization of Force sensitive dark agents, tasked by Vader to hunt down the few Jedi that survived the Great Jedi Purge, as well as identifying Force sensitive children across the galaxy and bringing them to the Emperor,” Ahsoka said, her face written with distress.

Luke swallowed uncomfortably; underneath the table, Leia held his hand.

“I defeated this inquisitor when he was determined to kill me, and I stole his kyber crystal to build my lightsabers. I knew I needed a weapon to defend myself and to defend other people that came in harm’s way.”

“So you did build your lightsaber,” Luke concluded. “I thought you said you weren’t a Jedi? I — I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I’m not a Jedi,” Ahsoka repeated. Sadly; her heart ached reminiscing the past. “Although I grew up in the temple and was trained in the Jedi ways, I walked away from creed when I was a teenager.”

“Why?!” Luke obtusely asked; as someone who had spent the past years so desperately trying to learn  _ anything  _ from the Jedi, he couldn’t understand how someone could just — walk away.

Ahsoka laughed uncomfortably under the scrutiny of his question.

“It was my choice.”

Recognizing her barriers, Luke didn’t push further into it.

“So, Skywalker—” Ahsoka leaned on her elbows over the table; like she was trying to fit in pieces of a puzzle together. “I wonder, is that a common name? In the Outer Rims, I’d say?”

Luke was taken aback by the bluntness of her question; of course, eventually, this query would arise as more people would  _ remember  _ and start to connect the dots, but it was too soon. He wasn’t ready for that, for its consequences, so he turned his eyes to Padmé in pure fright, looking for aid.

“Actually, Ahsoka,” Padmé called for her friend again, “That’s where things… Get a little complicated.”

Ahsoka frowned. “A little complicated?”

Padmé made a face, reconsidering her words. “Extremely complicated.”

Ahsoka snorted. “I wouldn’t expect any less relating to the Skywalker name.”

Padmé couldn’t bring herself to chuckle at the veracity behind her words. What Ahsoka couldn’t understand, however, was why there were grimaces suddenly taking over Han and Leia’s face, while Luke looked down with his cheeks flushed. So, she tried to sense their feelings for a little further insight into the situation; resignation from Hain and a lot of unsolved pain coming from Padmé.

Surprising her the most, though, was the emptiness coming from Luke and Leia.

Whoever they were — they knew just how to shield their emotions from strangers. Perhaps even from themselves.

“Okay, I’m gonna need someone to start talking,” she demanded, offering each person in the room a piercing glare. It didn’t work. “What the hell is going on?”

“Ahsoka,” Padmé said her name for the thousandth time that evening. “Do you remember the last time we saw each other?”

“Of course I do,” she answered, “It was right at the rise of the Empire. I will never forget.”

“Yes, but…” she swallowed hard, “Do you remember the circumstances? My circumstances, to be precise.”

Ahsoka was only getting more confused; was Padmé seeking validation regarding the terrible things that had happened to her?

“Y—yes,” she replied hesitantly. “I found you after childbirth, and I knew that the Empire — that  _ Palpatine  _ wouldn’t let you live, not as long as you so openly opposed to him. He would do everything in his power to silence you, and I couldn’t let that happen, not when we had already lost  _ everybody else _ . Anakin, Obi-wan, Master Yoda. Everyone. So I took it upon my hands to fake your death, so even though you’d be out of the game, at least you’d be  _ alive.  _ Back then, that was all I could have done.”

Ahsoka tried to look past the sadness in Padmé’s eyes, but she only found further sorrow there.

“I don’t understand what this has to do with Skywalker, though.”

“You said you faked my death,” Padmé carried on, ignoring her question. “Back then, I didn’t ask you for details, as I was too in shock to properly process anything, but… Now, for all these years that have passed by, I do wonder how you pulled that off.”

Ahsoka felt like she was being interrogated, but if answers were what Padmé sought, then answers she would give her. 

“I had help, of course,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t be able to pull it off on my own.”

“From whom?”

“I believe her name was Sabé,” she recalled, “Your—”

“One of my handmaidens,” Padmé whispered to herself, her eyes stinging. Of course, she should have expected it. Who else would rather than the person who would give their life for her? Her other half? The one with whom she shared not only a face but a soul?

Ahsoka nodded. “We went to Polis Massa, where you had been taken to give birth. I knew as much because I had had a vision of you; the Force  _ wanted  _ me to find you there. So, find you I did. All alone in a medbay, unconscious. I deceived the medical droid to mistake you for dead, I altered your charts to state as much, so even though you were still breathing, nobody else would know as much. We waited for the right opportunity and Sabé switched places with you, and while I was safely taking you to Raada, somewhere you’d be  _ safe,  _ Sabé was being buried in your place.”

If Padmé did as much as nod, it went unnoticed by everyone else. Somewhere during the story, she had become frozen within herself, her eyes getting lost and not looking anywhere at all.

It all sounded so incredibly simple — hence why everybody else probably believed it was true.

“Padmé…” Luke called for her after a few moments of excruciating silence. “Are you — Are you okay?”

The sound of her son’s voice seemed to bring her back to the present, and she took in a deep breath to certify she was still alive. Still, she didn’t bring herself to answer him.

“Ahsoka,” her voice was fainter than ever before, “I was pregnant…”

Ahsoka was hit by a wave of sorrow; so that was what all of this was about. The death of the child that Padmé had never brought herself to recover from.

“Your child died, Padmé,” she said in clear words; Padmé needed to hear those words, no matter how much it hurt. “I’m so sorry, I truly am. But your child died in childbirth, there wasn’t anything I could have done. By the time I got there, it was already too late.”

Luke wanted nothing more than to interfere, to ease it for his mother. Unfortunately, he was aware that that was a battle that Padmé herself needed to see to its end.

“Did you ever see them?” Padmé asked, looking down. “My  _ child _ , I mean.”

“I did not,” Ahsoka spoke coldly. “As I said, you were all alone by the time I got there. I even checked your medical chart; it said that your child had been born dead. There was nothing,  _ nothing  _ I could have done.”

In response, there was only silence.

“Padmé, it’s been twenty years,” Ahsoka gently lectured her. “I don’t understand the pain of losing a child, but I relate deeply to the grief of losing my dear ones. I lost all the Jedi, and it  _ hurt _ . However, you have to move on. Being stuck in the past won’t bring your child back.”

Han instinctively wrapped his arm around Leia’s shoulders; Leia was still navigating through the vastness of her grief, and he knew that hearing that wouldn’t have been easy.

“That’s the thing, Ahsoka,” Padmé now spoke sternly, an accusatory tone in her voice that couldn’t be missed. “I  _ had  _ moved on. Even though the death of my child was always my first thought in the morning and my last before I fell asleep at night, I had moved on. Until I learned that I had been living a lie for the past two decades.”

Ahsoka compressed her lips on a thin line, now having become aware of where this conversation would lead. Padmé had, at last, discovered the truth of Vader’s real identity, and she was grieving for the friend they had all lost. Had Anakin  _ died _ , it would have all been so incredibly easier.

She couldn’t comprehend why Padmé was bringing it up in front of three strangers; they might have been her friends so she’d trust them with that knowledge, but they weren’t  _ there _ in the middle of it, in the middle of the heartbreak. Sith forbade — they didn’t even resemble  _ old  _ enough to being alive back then.

Wishing to make it easier for her, Padmé locked eyes with the twins sat across from her. She found comfort in them, knowing they were  _ there  _ for her, despite Leia's cold face and Luke’s controlled expression. 

“Ahsoka, I introduced you to the Jedi Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia Organa,” she said. “But they’re more than that. They’re also — my children.”

Padmé hoped saying it aloud would help evaporate the tension. Instead, it only made it stronger.

“I know,” Ahsoka automatically replied, already prepared with the  _ Vader  _ conversation they were about to have. Only then did she truly hear the words, and she leaned back in confusion. “Wait. What?!”

“My children,” Padmé repeated.

Ahsoka turned to look at them. It didn’t make  _ sense _ .

“Wait. You got pregnant again?  _ Twice _ ?”

It didn’t make any sense at all.

Padmé giggled nervously. “No. I’m afraid these are the twins I gave birth to all those years ago. When I was given for dead — and so were  _ they _ .”

Ahsoka looked at one twin, then at the other, then at the other. She raised her hand in the air, struggling to process the information so bluntly being thrown at her.

“No — it  _ can’t  _ be.”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“They were  _ dead.  _ I saw it with my own eyes.”

“You never saw their bodies.”

Ahsoka tilted her head; going after the dead body of her friend’s stillborn child had never been a concern of hers, not  _ at all _ .

Luke discreetly cleared his throat, claiming the ground.

“I’d assume, Ahsoka, that just as you faked Padmé’s death, Leia and I’s were also forged, for our protection. Whether they had intended or not to keep us together, they saw it that the safest way to keep us alive was to alter the records so we’d be given for dead the moment we were born.”

Although she was hearing every word he was saying, he might as well be speaking a foreign language to her.

“There — There was a record of only one of you,” she pointed her index at Luke.

“Another ploy to keep us safe, I presume,” Luke said. “So even if one of us was discovered, they wouldn’t be aware of the existence of the other.”

Then, she pointed her index at Leia. This  _ clearly  _ wasn’t how she predicted her reunion with Padmé would go.

_ Padmé _ .

She turned back towards her friend, tears threatening her eyes.

“I ruined your life.”

Padmé breathed in and breathed out quite slowly.

“You did.”

She lowered her head, embarrassed, but she still allowed the accusation to linger in the air for a brief moment.

“You didn’t know,” Padmé then divulged quietly. “You never intended to bring us any harm. You were only acting on the kindness of your heart.”

Whether Padmé was speaking to Ahsoka or to herself, they couldn’t know.

“I am  _ so  _ sorry,” Ahsoka cried, regardless of Padmé’s faux attempt at absolving her. “Padmé, I’m so sorry.”

Padmé tried to smile. “You said it yourself. Regretting the past won’t change it.”

“It doesn’t make it any less painful.”

“No,” Padmé admitted. “But I’ve learned how to live through my pain nonetheless.”

“Padmé…”

“I’ve got them back now,” she stated firmly, “It won’t ever make up for the years we lost, but I  _ have  _ them again. I wouldn’t trade them now for any conjecture of a past that will never exist.”

Luke extended his arm across the table, hoping Padmé would take his hand. She did.

“Against all odds, we found our way back to each other,” Luke tried to ease it, “The three of us.”

Ahsoka noticed that the third member of the family was keeping their distance, not once having spoken regarding Padmé’s misfortunes.

“You’re Bail’s daughter,” Ahsoka said, looking at Leia. She tried to remember any times that Bail might have hinted at her the true heritage of his daughter, but her memory failed her.

“I am.”

_ Bail,  _ who was not only a powerful politician of the Core Worlds but also the leader of the Rebellion. Bail, raising the daughter of Padmé and—

Ahsoka abruptly turned to face Padmé again. “Who’s their father?”

“Come on now,” Padmé restlessly answered, “You know that already.”

“No, I have my  _ suspicions  _ and no tangible proof to corroborate my suppositions,” Ahsoka debunked. “I need you to tell me.”

“Well. Of course it’s  _ him _ , Ahsoka,” Padmé said.

“Say his name, Padmé.”

Padmé looked at her dead in the eyes. “Anakin Skywalker.  _ Ani  _ is their father.”

Ahsoka brought her hand to her forehead, rubbing her temples. Well — that complicated things.

As if things weren’t complicated enough.

Luke stared at her curiously, trying to understand the sudden shift of her emotions.

“You know, don’t you?”

“Know what?”

“Whatever it is that you’re suddenly so anxious to talk to us about,” Luke leaned his head condescendingly. “You don’t have to worry. Everybody in this room already knows.”

Still, Ahsoka was hesitant. She had carried the burden of this knowledge for years now, and she didn’t know how to share it with other people —  _ especially  _ people that hadn’t known Anakin Skywalker as she did.

“How did you find out?”

“He told me,” Luke sighed melancholically; the memories of that particular day were never easy to revisit. “I then told Leia, upon learning that she was my twin sister. Then, she told Han. And Padmé—”

“I was aware that Anakin had turned during my last confrontation with him, but I was still in denial, and couldn’t believe the man I had fallen in love with would be capable of ever hurting anyone,” Padmé reminisced with a heavy chest. “Then, you told me that Anakin had died, and it was so much easier than the crude reality. I wanted nothing more than to believe that, but when I first saw Vader — I knew it was him.”

Ahsoka dropped her chin; more than anyone, she knew exactly what it was like to deny Anakin’s terrible fate.

“Did you know my father, Ahsoka?”

There was a certain guilelessness behind Luke’s question that caught her off guard. The boy who had never met the man before the mask still held to a childish adoration of him; she wasn’t expecting it.

Especially when she had met Vader and she knew exactly what he was capable of. She couldn’t fathom how far Vader was willing to go to destroy his offsprings.

“I… I did,” she said after a few moments of contemplation. “I met him when I was 14, just a Padawan in the Jedi Temple. Anakin was my Master, and we fought alongside each other in the Clone Wars.”

“You were his Padawan?” Luke asked, captivated with the concept. “What was it like? What was  _ he  _ like?”

Because even though he had already gathered so much from Padmé, she had never known him outside of their love story. Luke longed to know of him to somebody who had grown with him.

“Anakin — was the most reckless man I’ve ever met,” Ahsoka said, slightly smiling to herself; the memories that came along still brought her a sense of warmth that she couldn’t find anywhere else. “Serving with him, being  _ his  _ Padawan, was one of the greatest honors of my life. He was a phenomenal leader, and even though he had the craziest plans and ideas that never,  _ ever  _ worked out in the heat of battle, he unconditionally cared for every clone in his battalion. He took the time to know them personally and to know their  _ names,  _ even though they all shared the same face. Anakin had one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever known, and his willingness to go to the extremes to save those he loved and cared for… Well, in the end, I guess that’s what drove him to his fall.”

Luke listened to her while his eyes glowed; his heart ached for the man he had never truly known.

Deciding she had had enough, Leia made herself heard for the first time. “Well, since we’ve reached the  _ Anakin  _ appreciation hour,” she spat out his name, “I’ll excuse myself and leave you to talk.”

She didn’t wait for anyone to address her, getting up to leave without as much as saying goodnight. Han, forgotten of everybody in the room that wasn’t her, left behind her barely one second later.

“You’ll have to excuse her,” Luke defended his sister, “She’s the only one of us that never shared a genuine moment with the man that Anakin was.”

“There’s barely anything to be excused,” Ahsoka indulged; she would hardly pin over the young girl’s head her hatred for Vader. Then, she frowned at Luke, “Because  _ you  _ have?”

“I have,” Luke strongly nodded. “The story that I defeated Palpatine — it’s a cover, a setup, because the galaxy at large will never be ready to learn of what truly happened on board the second Death Star.”

Ahsoka eyed him suspiciously. “And that is…?”

“That Anakin saved me from Palpatine’s wrath when I was about to die by killing him,” Luke said, anticipating Ahsoka’s reaction. “Vader chose to save me in the end, and  _ that’s  _ when Anakin returned to the light. He renounced darkness to save me, his son.”

The tables turned and Ahsoka was the one to allow her emotions to get the best of her.

“Anakin… Came back?”

“He did,” Luke smiled fondly. “I get to share this one moment with him. My sister — has only known pain and suffering from Vader, and we don’t get to discredit her feelings regarding him just because  _ we  _ were lucky enough to have known Anakin.”

Ahsoka didn’t miss the threatening advice there; she wasn’t allowed to crossfire his sister or she’d face the consequences. Considering the depth and place of their conversation, it was almost comical.

“I’ve met Vader, Luke,” Ahsoka said. “You don’t have to worry. I’m well aware of the monster that he is.”

She turned back to Padmé, who had become so silent during their Anakin talk that Ahsoka had almost forgotten she was still there.

“You must be happy, to know that Anakin came back in the end.”

“True happiness would come if Anakin had never turned to the dark side and caused all the damage that he did,” Padmé stated. “I am — placated that Anakin found his way back to the light, but I choose to find my happiness in other places.”

“Such as your children,” Ahsoka inferred.

“Yes,” she agreed, flashing a smile towards Luke — amused that he would blush at her simple gesture of love and appreciation. “They are everything a mother would wish her children became, and even though I can’t claim credit for that, their selfless hearts still bring me immeasurable pride.”

By then, Luke’s cheeks were as red as Vader’s lightsaber.

“Would you like me to leave as well so you can talk about me?” he prompted, but he hadn’t foreseen their answer—

“Yes,” Ahsoka responded, deadpan.

His jaw nearly dropped at that, even more so when Padmé offered him a look encouraging him to go away. After that, he was forced to swallow his pride.

“I guess this is goodnight, then,” he said, trying to keep his cool and failing  _ miserably.  _ Padmé placed her hand over her mouth to hide her sneer.

“Be a good boy,” Ahsoka demanded. “Kiss your mother goodnight.”

“I was  _ going  _ to,” Luke replied despite his embarrassment. He did just that and disappeared without looking back, finally giving the two women the privacy to catch up on everything they had missed since the last time they had seen each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is for all the people who have been pestering me about ahsoka for the past 40 chapters (and i say that in the nicest way possible, I love being pestered by you.)
> 
> are you happy? please tell me you're happy. i _need_ you to be happy.
> 
> also -- someone asked for a badass luke fight scene a long time ago, and I think him dueling ahsoka out of fear that she had come to take padmé was the perfect place for it.


	43. Forty-Two

“So. You’re a mother.”

Padmé nodded, that word still feeling a little strange to her when it came from anyone else other than Luke. By the end of the day, however, that was  _ precisely  _ what she was.

She gazed at the twins idly talking to each other by the balcony of her fancy apartment. At the end of the week, she had decided they all should come spend the weekend there, to get away from the military ranks that would so often crush them. It had been a nice idea, as it gave them all the freedom and the privacy to be themselves away from foreign eyes.

Luke, too excited with the idea, had packed his bag the moment she had suggested it. Han and Ameera were simply content to be somewhere other than the closed headquarters where people would obnoxiously stare at them  _ just because  _ they were acquainted with the  _ legendary twins _ . Leia had been hesitant, although she caved in after being  _ promised  _ she’d get a secluded office to work for as long as she wanted without being interrupted.

Padmé’s eyes lingered on her children for a brief period, watching them laughing and bickering outside under the golden rays of twilight, then she returned her attention to Ahsoka.

“I’m a  _ mother _ .”

Sometimes, it still felt so  _ weird  _ to say it aloud, but she embraced those words to her core.

Ahsoka leaned back on the lounge, her feet thrown over the coffee table — she hadn’t been here at Padmé’s apartment in so  _ long _ that she was truly appreciating the faint sensation of being home again when she had been homeless for the past two decades. She tried not to stare at her old Master’s offsprings, but, occasionally, her eyes would divert towards them.

“How’s that been like?”

Padmé took a long sip from her glass of wine as if to corroborate what she was about to say, “The hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

Ahsoka snorted at that.

“I doubt that,” she quipped, “Coming from the  _ woman  _ who was queen at the age of fourteen and who was one of the most proficient politicians at the Galactic Senate.”

“All so incredibly  _ easier  _ than being a mother to brooding teenagers.”

Ahsoka looked at her through her lashes, “They’re not  _ teenagers _ anymore. They’re what, in their mid-twenties by now?”

“They’re twenty-three,” Padmé said. “I mean, thank the heavens I missed on their teenage years. I wouldn’t have survived all the hormones and emotional mood swings of  _ two  _ Force sensitive kids, nonetheless.”

Ahsoka chuckled. “I wasn’t so bad, was I?”

“No,” she smiled fondly, “Well, unless you were with Anakin. I swear the two of you had competitions on who would drive the Jedi —  _ especially  _ Obi-wan — insane first.”

“Oh, we surely did,” Ahsoka confirmed, delighted at the memories. “Anakin really shaped me into the person I’ve become, you know. He was — one of the greatest men I’ve ever had the honor of meeting.”

Padmé couldn’t bring herself to smile at that, and she found herself again staring at Luke and Leia.

“There are days that that’s all I can think about when I look at them, at the extraordinary people they grew up to be,” she said in a small voice, “ _ How  _ could he just throw all of this away?”

Ahsoka’s cheerful expression disappeared; she couldn’t answer that, so she said nothing.

“He was so happy when he learned I was pregnant, we both were,” Padmé continued. “And he loved you  _ so much,  _ Ahsoka, you were like a daughter to him. Speaking of you lifted his spirits, and he was so heartbroken when you left the Jedi. I can’t understand why he would discard the chance of becoming a father to his own children when he loved them from the day they were conceived.”

A selfish part of Ahsoka prided from learning that Anakin considered her as much as she did him.

“Did you know that one of his first deeds as Vader was murdering all the younglings in the temple?”

All that pride dissipated into thin air.

“No,” Ahsoka replied hoarsely. “I didn’t know that.”

Padmé listened with a heavy heart to all the emotions pining on her voice. 

“How could he have done that?” Padmé questioned, outraged, “I was still  _ alive  _ and pregnant. I was still carrying his children — children that were very likely to be Force sensitive as well. How could he?”

Ahsoka wrapped her arms around herself. She couldn’t answer that.

“That no longer was Anakin, Padmé.”

“Nope,” Padmé agreed. “Discerning them apart doesn’t make me any less angry, though.”

Ahsoka looked down, bringing one of her knees up to her chest.

“It shouldn’t. Anakin — ruined everything for you.”

She refrained from saying he had ruined the galaxy for everybody else; that much didn’t need saying anymore.

“He did,” Padmé sighed tiredly, resting her head on the cushion behind her. “You asked me what’s motherhood been like — I said it before and I’ll say it again: it’s been the  _ hardest  _ thing I’ve ever done.”

“They seem like good kids, though,” Ahsoka mended. “Good  _ people _ . And I know they were the key players in defeating the Empire, but — that doesn’t necessarily imply goodness from one’s hearts. People are complicated, and they’re often driven by their ulterior motives, but when I look at them, I don’t see anything other than their innate selflessness.”

“There’s more to people than it meets the eyes.”

Ahsoka gave her a look. “Yeah. I’m Force sensitive, remember?! Or have all those years in asylum started to deteriorate your memory?”

Padmé laughed freely at her.

“Besides — I’d hardly believe you’re implying they aren’t  _ good _ .”

“No, not that,” Padmé said in a small voice. “They’re exceptional people, but… They’re also  _ so  _ hurt. Both of them.”

Impulsively, Ahsoka turned her head outside just in time to see Luke throwing his head back in a burst of authentic laughter, probably at something Leia had said to him. To any outsider, they seemed —  _ happy _ .

“They fought in a war, Padmé,” Ahsoka spoke seriously; she was well aware of the consequences of war, she had lived through every one of them. “Expecting them to come out of battle unscathed is, if anything, unrealistic.”

“Of course, I’d never underestimate the horrors they faced to bring peace back to the galaxy,” Padmé clarified. “That’s not where the  _ hurt  _ comes from, though.”

Ahsoka dropped her gaze again.

“Vader.”

Padmé huffed ironically.

“I have to admit I was a little surprised at how eager Luke seems at the mere mention of Anakin, considering he only ever met Vader,” Ahsoka admitted, now looking at her friend. “I would have expected him to be more like — like  _ her _ .”

Although she gestured slightly with her head, it was implied she was referring to Leia.

“Luke idolizes his father,” Padmé spoke in a low voice. “From what I’ve come to understand about him, he’s venerated this image of an exceptional father that was stolen from him ever since he was just a boy. I’d assume this comes from an emotional distance that existed between his guardians and him,  _ especially  _ his uncle Owen, that forced him to seek out a parent that unconditionally cared for him,  _ loved  _ him, even though they were no longer there with him. He relied on the image of this hero to survive, he  _ needed  _ the sensation of this love, as fictitious as it was. So, when he learned the truth about his father, that his father was  _ Darth Vader _ and was very much still alive, having forsaken him at his birth to rule over the galaxy — it crushed his soul. It destroyed his every innocent conception that he had ever been  _ loved _ , rather than just tossed and discarded at a desert with a family that never truly cared, or wanted him. At the end, when Vader chose to abandon the darkness and save  _ him _ , bringing back to life the great Jedi that he once was and offering his  _ son  _ one final deed of paternal love, it restored all the faith and admiration that Luke had for Anakin all along. I can’t steal him from that, Ahsoka, not when I wasn’t  _ there  _ to tug him into bed every night, kiss his forehead, and promise, just  _ promise  _ him that he was loved ever since the day he was born.”

Ahsoka shifted uncomfortably on the couch; she knew Padmé was just talking and not throwing any accusations that Ahsoka had been responsible for mother and son to have been separated, therefore causing this sense of neglect on an innocent child, but her guilt was there nonetheless. She would live with that burden for the rest of her life, just like they all carried the weight of Vader’s existence.

“Vader traumatized him,” Padmé carried on, her eyes lost on the bright boy just outside, looking at his sister with a blank face as she had her hands on her shoulder. “He hurt him. He cut off his hand and he allowed Palpatine to torture him, electrocute him almost to  _ death  _ before he finally interfered on his behalf. Despite all those memories, all that internalized trauma that lingers there, Luke still chooses to cling to Anakin. His happiest memory is Darth Vader saving him, even though he was willing to let him die, but it comforts him because with this salvation came the love and acceptance he always sought. And that’s  _ so messed up _ , and I can’t steal his father away from him. Luke isn’t naïve, he’s seen and faced all too much deception and mischief to be naïve, yet when it comes to Vader, he will always,  _ always  _ choose to see the best in him. I don’t know if that’s beautiful, or if that’s foolish, but it’s the way it is.”

Ahsoka pulled her leg under her. “That seems like an awfully sad way to live.”

Padmé sighed in surrender. “Maybe it is.”

“It’s funny, though, that your return didn’t encourage him to find a parental sort of love on you instead,” Ahsoka commented. “I mean, you’re  _ here _ , you’re alive, and you’re good. Padmé, you’re a  _ good  _ person, you’ve never done anyone harm. Why wouldn’t he find solace on you, instead holding so tight to this — this unhealthy obsession with Anakin?”

Padmé wrinkled her nose. “It’s not necessarily  _ unhealthy.  _ Anakin was a good person, you know.”

“ _ I  _ know that,” Ahsoka grumbled, “You know that. He?” she obnoxiously pointed her finger at Luke, “He doesn’t  _ know  _ that. He never met Anakin, not  _ our  _ Anakin. He’s only ever met — a ghost of the person that Anakin used to be.”

Padmé looked at her through her lashes, curious. “He told you about his encounters with Anakin’s Force ghost?”

Ahsoka gazed at her with stretched eyes. “Anakin’s Force  _ what  _ now?”

She made a face. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Ahsoka eyed her suspiciously, “Do I wanna know?”

“I’ll leave Luke to that,” she dismissed the subject with a gesture, deciding to address their previous conversation instead. “No, Luke never met  _ our  _ Anakin. However, growing up, he had his Aunt Beru, a nice loving woman that cared for him and did her best to give him all she could. Even though having an  _ aunt  _ differs from having a  _ mother _ , she stepped into the role as much as she could. The same couldn’t be said about his uncle, who mistreated him and mishandled him at every chance he could. He was his uncle in name, but most days, he wasn’t even  _ that _ . He chose to overwork a child instead of offering him  _ any  _ sense of protection or caring, so that void, that fatherly void, has always haunted him. It’s always going to be there because he will  _ never  _ truly have Anakin, but if the stories we tell him, and the great Jedi we depict for him,  _ help  _ him, then that’s what we have to do. That’s what I’ll do.”

Ahsoka sadly nodded.

“That Uncle — he sounds like a jerk.”

Padmé let out a hollow chuckle. “He probably was.”

“What happened to them?” Ahsoka asked, “His foster family, I mean.”

“Dead,” she said emotionlessly, “The Empire killed them, burned them to death. Luke found their bodies.”

“That’s awful,” she replied. “Sith’s sake, the boy’s faced deception after deception. Losing your family like that, no matter how much bad blood there was between them — I can’t begin to imagine the horror.”

“Yeah,” Padmé agreed sourly. “Somehow, despite all that pain, there’s only light in him.”

Ahsoka smiled fondly at that. “I know. I can feel it. Whenever I’m in his presence, I only sense benevolence. It’s appeasing, actually, to be in the presence of so much light when I’ve been hiding in darkness for so many years now.”

“Light has always followed you, too,” Padmé said, “You’ve never succumbed to darkness.”

“Yes, but…” she cleared her throat, “More often than not, I had to completely ignore my powers so I wouldn’t be perceived by those wanting to kill me and every still standing Force sensitive being. Living shut off to whom I truly am — that’s almost as living in darkness.”

Padmé nodded; she wasn’t Force sensitive, but — she knew exactly how that felt.

“The Emperor is dead,” the politician stated what was already known, “The Empire is rapidly crumbling all over the galaxy. Soon enough, you won’t have to hide anymore. You’ll get to step back into the light.”

“Hopefully,” she tried to remain optimistic, but after so many years of deceit, it felt reckless to so blindly grasp that expectation. “There’s still so much to be done.”

Padmé hummed.

“There’s still  _ so  _ much I need to do,” Ahsoka reiterated, “Just because Palpatine is dead it doesn’t mean that all evil is defeated.”

She hummed again.

“That’s what I’ve done, anyway, for the past years,” she announced. “I helped defeat evil where I could, be it the Empire or something else.  _ That’s  _ my calling, as a — not — Jedi. That’s what I’ll carry on doing.”

“You won’t stay,” Padmé inferred.

“I can’t,” Ahsoka said. “Not for as long as there are people out there that need my help.”

Padmé fixated her big brown eyes on her.

“What about the people here that need your help?”

“What are you talking about?” Ahsoka frowned, “Coruscant is — is as safe as it can be.”

“I’m not talking about Coruscant.”

“Then are you talking about?”

“Them.”

Ahsoka’s neck abruptly twirled towards the balcony; she saw the twins leaning on the railing, looking away at the horizon. His hand on her back in a comforting gesture. 

Ahsoka carefully built up the walls against her emotions again.

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for starters, I’m not a  _ Jedi _ ,” she stated the obvious. “There’s hardly anything I can enrich them with.”

Padmé shook her head negatively.

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, annoyed. “If you think there’s anything I can bring them, please feel welcome to pitch in.”

“Peace.”

Ahsoka tilted her head. “Padmé—”

“You can bring them peace, Ahsoka,” Padmé instigated. “You’re Force sensitive, you’re very strong in the Force, you’ve had years of experience and wisdom. Above all, you were a friend of Anakin’s. They don’t know who they are, Ashoka, not as two children of the Force and not as two children of  _ Anakin’s _ . Only you can guide them towards a better understanding of themselves.”

Ahsoka stared at her with a grave expression. “That’s a lot of responsibility you’re placing on me, Padmé.”

“Why’s that?” Padmé provoked, “Isn’t that essentially a Jedi’s duty to their Padawans? Isn’t that  _ exactly  _ what Anakin taught you?”

Ahsoka’s expression didn’t shift, but she stayed silent.

Padmé sighed, dropping her imposing act.

“Evil isn’t hereditary, Ahsoka,” she said in a calmer tone. “Their blood isn’t tainted.”

She crossed her arms. “And how do you know that?”

“Well,” Padmé looked outside for the zillionth time; Luke had his head laying over Leia’s shoulder, which proved to be ridiculously comical considering their height difference. “If it were, they would have turned a long time ago. Yet, only light prevailed.”

“It’s never too  _ late  _ to turn, Padmé.”

“I’m certain of that,” she insisted, “But if you’ve been through half the things they survived and yet you chose to remain  _ good  _ — they’re children of Anakin’s, yes, but most importantly, they’re children of the  _ light _ . That’s all they’ll ever be.”

Ahsoka shivered; it all sounded too poetic when talking about the crudest darkness that life had to offer.

“Have you talked to her?”

“Who, Leia?” Ahsoka perked up one eye, and Padmé nodded. “No, not really. She is — very vigilant, I’d say. She shuts herself off whenever I come in, and… Honestly, Padmé, I don’t think she likes me very much.”

To Ahsoka’s confusion, Padmé laughed loudly at that.

“She probably doesn’t.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” she snorted, and there was no animosity towards hers and Leia’s troubled relationship there; not anymore. “To Leia, we are very faulty in character for the same reason.”

“What is that?”

“We both love Anakin,” Padmé offered her a pointed look.

Ahsoka scoffed lightly. “Love?”

“Love,” she said again, “To say that we don’t love Anakin anymore because of what  _ Vader  _ became — we’d be lying to ourselves. That would be the greatest flaw in our characters.”

Ahsoka accepted that gracefully; even after all these years, she couldn’t deny the fondness she had for her old Master.

“She’s not wrong, you know,” Ahsoka prompted, “To mistrust us for that.”

“Oh, I know,” Padmé concurred in a shy voice, but there was nothing she could do; she couldn’t deny her love for Anakin. “Did you watch the press conference?”

“I did,” she said hesitantly, “But mind you, I was paying more attention to a certain somebody lurking behind than on what was actually being said.”

Padmé huffed; Ahsoka seemed ready to tease Padmé for going against the one thing that Ahsoka had ever ordered her to do — to stay behind, hiding in the shadows — for the rest of their lives.

“It was a very beautiful speech,” she reminisced, still getting chills from it. Then, her proud expression dropped. “Ahsoka?”

“Hm?”

“They made her watch,” Padmé whispered, dreading that Leia would suddenly develop super hearing and eavesdrop on their conversation. She didn’t think she was going against the princess’ trust, not when Leia had told the entire galaxy of what precisely had happened on the Death Star, but she had confided in Padmé first, so Padmé felt slightly odd to be mentioning it to anybody else. 

“Made her watch what?” Ahsoka asked, confused.

“They made her watch as they blew up Alderaan,” Padmé lamented, that same familiar twinge back on her heart. “ _ He  _ made her watch. No, he tortured her, and  _ then  _ he forced her to watch.”

A sick expression took over Ahsoka’s traits.

“That’s fucked up.”

There was no point in sugarcoating what had happened with milder words; no, trying to soften it would only be a disservice to the visceral pain that Leia had resisted when questioned for information.

“It is,” Padmé said, “And then, she learns that he’s her biological father? It crushed her spirits, Ahsoka. Her bloodline haunts her every day, and there’s  _ nothing  _ that can erase the trauma of knowing that your father spared your brother in the end but couldn’t have spared you, or your homeworld, back then.”

“She’s hurt,” Ahsoka surmised, going back to the start of their conversation. “I’m surprised I didn’t sense anything from her. I mean, I’ve felt both their mind shields when I arrived, but Luke more often than not lowers his defense and lets his emotions all over the place. Leia, however, is perfectly composed whenever I approach her. I don’t sense anything, and it’s almost like—”

“—Like nothing bad happened at all?” Padmé incited, furrowing her brows, and Ahsoka nodded. “Yeah. I thought that too, I  _ hoped  _ that that would be true, for a long time as well. Sometimes, it’s like she’s even convinced herself—”

Padmé let out a tired exhale.

“It’s better, now. I mean, she’s better at recognizing the things that she went through, even talking about them. To us, anyway,” Padmé said, waving a hand, “To strangers, to an unfamiliar face that just happened to have been under Anakin’s care once — that’s a whole other story.”

“If she can’t open up to me, Padmé, not even empirically, how am I supposed to help her?” Ahsoka genuinely asked. “I can’t just — override her past.”

“I’m not asking you to do that, that would be a dishonor to all her sacrifices towards the greater good,” she argued. “Her past is who she is, happiness and pain altogether.”

“Then  _ how  _ do you want me to help her?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “You’ll figure it out. You’re a clever girl.”

“Girl?!” Ahsoka mocked, “I’m closer to your age than I am to theirs, you know.”

Padmé shrugged.

“You’ll always be the young girl that gave Anakin  _ hell _ until you two decided to team up and bring hell to everybody else instead,” Padmé commented, amused.

Ahsoka chuckled. “We did make a good pair, I’ll give you that.”

“The best.”

* * *

Luke Skywalker had only one aim in life: to beat his twin sister on a verbal sparring.

Today, however, was not that day. 

He was starting to think that day would never actually come.

He didn’t even remember what precisely they were arguing about, or the many turns it took whenever he tried to debunk her; his jaw had simply fallen over at her last go at disparaging him with some very big fancy word which meaning he didn’t know and therefore was left uncertain whether she was praising him or belittling him —  _ probably  _ the latter.

After that, he just gave up, forcing himself to accept the insulting smirk on her face.

“I was trained in the art of rhetoric ever since I was a child, you know,” Leia said, well aware of the game he was playing. “You can’t beat me.”

Luke stubbornly crossed his arms. “You  _ could  _ let me beat you, though.”

Leia ridiculed him with her eyes. “Now, why would I do that?”

“...Pity?”

Leia scoffed at him.

He sighed in defeat once more.

“Maybe I should ask Padmé for help. I’ve seen her talk, she’s quite good at this — rhetorical art,” he stumbled on his words, unintentionally, which just corroborated his point. “She could give me some lessons.”

“I’m afraid it’ll take you more than ‘some lessons’ to even come close to winning a verbal sparring against me,” she made quotation marks to further mock him.

Luke good-heartedly rolled his eyes. “How is it fair that you’ve had lessons on how to properly  _ talk  _ whereas I struggled to even receive a basic education?”

Leia shot her shoulders up and down. “I’d assume they just looked at me and could tell that I was the prodigal twin.”

He shook his head, but his amusement was still there.

Leia looked away into the horizon, wrapping her arms around herself as a chill breeze danced around her.

“Luke?”

“Yes, Leia?” he answered her calling, still looking at her.

“Do you ever… resent me?”

He frowned, completely at loss at where that question had come from.

“What do I even have to resent you for?”

Leia smiled coyly; it was sweet that he couldn’t see it. 

“I had everything,” she spoke quietly, “While you had nothing.”

Luke shivered. “Come on. All because I pestered you about your fancy lessons?”

“But you’re right, Luke,” she said. “I had all the privilege in the world, I was raised in wealth and power and — and freedom, even if my freedom was an illusion. Meanwhile—”

“Meanwhile I had a lowlife’s life?” he arched a brow at her.

Leia grimaced. “I wouldn’t use  _ that  _ word.”

Luke lightly scoffed. “Once again proving my misfortune of being dropped at a desert after birth?”

She resisted the urge to make an impolite gesture at him. “I’m  _ serious _ , Luke.”

“I can see,” he offered her a firm nod. “If I remember correctly — which by itself is a statement you should take with a grain of salt since I don’t remember  _ anything  _ from that specific time of our lives — you didn’t get to weigh in your royal opinions when they decided to separate us.”

“Royal opinion? I think you’ve been spending too much time with Han,” she teased, entertained with his comment, even if her amusement dissipated all too fast. “It wasn’t really fair, was it.”

It was a statement, rather than a question, to which Luke again shrugged. 

“It was the way it had to be,” he put it simply.

“Of course not, Luke,” Leia rebuked sourly. “Just because something was, it doesn’t mean it  _ had  _ to be that way. Aren’t you the one always mumbling that the future is always in motion? It’s the same logic.”

“The past isn’t in motion, Leia,” he fluttered his lashes at her.

“I know  _ that _ , Luke,” she grunted. “Alderaan didn’t have to be destroyed for us to win the fight against the Empire. I didn’t have to be—” she paused briefly, never bringing herself to say the word, “—for us to rescue Han from Jabba.  _ You  _ didn’t have to be thrown into the desert and suffer all the hardships of life to become a great Jedi. Saying that some things have to happen in a certain way for a better outcome isn’t poetic — it’s just callous.”

“And you think that’d resolve itself if I instead started resenting you?”

“Yes!” Leia announced impetuously, then made a face when she heard herself. “No. I don’t want you to resent me. I’m just saying — it would be understandable. If you did.”

“I hate to bring you bad news then.”

“You don’t resent me?” Leia asked what she already knew.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Why not?”

“Because I love you…?”

She squinted her eyes at him, “Is that a question mark I hear there?”

“Probably,” Luke answered deadpan. “All my resentment towards you originates in that very specific question mark.”

This time, she couldn’t stop the eye roll from coming.

“You’re impossible,” she accused.

“ _ I’m  _ impossible?”

“Yes!”

He threw his head back in a loud laugh, belittling her interpretation of their characters. She crossed her arms in a pout and waited until he was done.

“I’m happy to see I can still amuse you,” Leia moaned.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he conceded, a gentle smile on his face. “I don’t resent you for having a better childhood than I did, Leia. If anything, I begrudge those responsible for taking me away — from  _ her _ .”

Leia indiscreetly turned to face inside the apartment, where Padmé and Ahsoka sat comfortably on the couch and talked between themselves.

“Ahsoka?”

A pained expression took over his face. “Not… necessarily. Ahsoka didn’t have any malice in her heart when she separated us. Honestly, I don’t think she would have done it if she knew we were still alive. Ben, however… He knew what was happening, the Force told him as much, and he still chose to make a tactical decision rather than a human one.  _ That’s  _ what I resent the most.”

Leia nodded sadly, understanding how hard it was for her brother, even though she couldn’t relate to his heartbreak. She wouldn’t trade her life, or her parents, for anything. No matter how much she came to love Padmé.

Caught in a haze of his sorrow, Luke walked towards the railing and leaned there, gazing at the Coruscanti sun starting to lower. Leia stood next to him, allowing him to have a moment of sadness, but not letting it last too long.

“What do you think of her?”

“Who?”

“Ahsoka,” Leia named.

“Oh,” he muttered, somehow surprised even though Leia couldn’t be speaking of anybody else. “What do you think of her?”

Leia shot her shoulders up and down. “I don’t think anything of her.”

“Lies,” Luke teasingly accused. “You’re one of the most judgemental people I know. There’s no  _ way  _ you haven’t formed an opinion of her.”

Leia pouted her lips, feigning offense.

“Let’s just say… I’m keeping my distance.”

He huffed. “Of course you are.”

“I know that my father trusted her, I know that he made her a vital agent for the rebellion, but,” she paused, sorting her thoughts. 

“But she still cared for Anakin,” Luke said on her behalf, and Leia hesitantly nodded. “I understand, Leia.”

She smiled gratefully at him, relieved that she didn’t have to explain herself.

“If I recall correctly,” Leia said, “I asked you first.”

Luke beamed brightly, and he didn’t fear that his sister would reprimand him.

“To risk sounding a little too forward — I’m pretty much in love with her.”

Leia gasped in mock surprise, “Luke, you naughty little boy.”

Which was all it took for color to paint his cheeks.

“No! Not like  _ that _ ,” he tried to defend himself, despite knowing his sister to be pestering him. “It’s just — Leia, she lived with them. She  _ was  _ a Jedi, she was part of the Order. I’d even dare to say she still is one, even if she’s forsaken her Jedi title. That sort of culture — you can’t just break free, it follows you everywhere.”

Leia hummed quietly. She agreed with his assessment to an extent; there were days she embraced every bit of her Alderaanian heritage to honor her origins, there were days she turned her back to all of them because the heartbreak was unbearable. She’d assume it was the same for Ahsoka, especially when the Jedi were no more.

“Did she tell you why she left the Order?”

“She didn’t,” he replied. “I wanted to ask, but… It seems too sore of a topic.”

“It probably is,” Leia conceded, resting both her arms over the rail. “Walking away from your entire life like that — I can’t imagine the heartbreak she must have gone through to willingly choose to leave.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “She and Padmé are rather close, don’t you think?”

Leia made a face at that. She didn’t know why his statement bothered her so much, but it  _ did _ . Ever since Ahsoka had appeared a few days ago, she and Padmé had been attached to the hip; it was nearly impossible to find Padmé on her own, and given Leia’s own reticence towards the Togruta, she had barely had the chance of talking to  _ her mother _ . Their little getaway to Padmé’s apartment had done little to change that.

She knew that Luke was perfectly at ease at being with the both of them and confiding on them and overall just enjoying the presence of the two most important women of his father’s life — however, she didn’t share her brother’s easy familiarity.

“They are,” Leia said hesitantly, and left it there.

“I don’t think it was very common for Jedi to befriend outsiders, politicians nonetheless,” he prompted, “But considering Anakin and Padmé’s — clandestine — marriage, Ahsoka and she seemed to have become quite good friends. From the stories I’ve been hearing, they went on their fair share of adventures together.”

Leia politely nodded.

“I’ve been bothering Ahsoka a lot, I confess, with all my questions about the Jedi,” Luke huffed, slightly embarrassed. “She doesn’t seem to mind, so I just keep asking them. It’s amazing — well, I wouldn’t say  _ amazing,  _ on the contrary.”

“Umbraging?” she provided.

“Well, there’s no need to show  _ off _ ,” he lightly complained. “But yes. It’s  _ umbraging  _ how far Palpatine went to erase all the records of the Jedi. Thousands of years of the Jedi — and then, it was like they never existed at all. I understand the political power that comes with obliterating a whole culture from existence, but it doesn’t make it any less — heartbreaking, to have nothing left.”

“I’m aware.”

He grimaced, only then making the connection between his words and her reaction. “Er, sorry.”

She shook her head elegantly. “You don’t have to tiptoe around me thinking you’re going to make me sad whenever something reminds me of Alderaan.”

“But I did make you sad.”

“Luke — it takes more than a circumstantial comment of yours to make me sad about Alderaan.”

He was well aware she was being ambiguous on purpose, and, for her sake, he chose not to dwell on it.

“So yeah, I’ve been learning a lot,” Luke swiftly focused on his ramblings again. “I’ve been learning the things that I need to know if I’m going to reestablish the Jedi Order again.”

She looked at him from the corner of her eyes, “Is that what you’re going to do? Restart the Jedi Order?”

“Well,” he considered her for a moment, “I think that’s the next logical step, wouldn’t you say so? There are Force sensitive beings so long as there is  _ life _ , and if we can make something good come from it again, shouldn’t we give our best to do it?”

Pressing her lips, Leia hummed.

Luke rolled his eyes, “There’s the judgment again. You see, Leia, you make it very clear with your composure when you disagree with something.”

“I don’t disagree with you,” she mended.

“You disagree with the Jedi,” he guessed, “You think that having Jedi is just another path to having  _ Sith  _ again.”

“Not at all,” she said, meaning it this time. Then, she tilted her head, “ _ But  _ — The old Jedi order had its many flaws. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have allowed a Sith to rise to power right under their watch.”

“I think that’s oversimplifying it—”

“I’m not done,” she raised her index in the air to silence him. “Palpatine was incredibly clever, and his intelligence added to his powers made him strong enough to deceive the Jedi and everybody else who was watching. Still, you can’t turn a blind eye to the defects in the Order. The Jedi were too held down to their customs and traditions, they had become arrogant because of their status quo. Society is always evolving and progressing, so as the peacemakers of the Republic, the Jedi needed to adapt as well. Luke, if you want to settle the Jedi Order again, you’ll have my full blessing and support. But you can’t reestablish it. You need to start over.”

He pondered in silence for a long time, considering everything she had said. Leia didn’t mind the silence.

“So you think I should just ignore all the Jedi’s learnings and wisdom?”

“Not ignore.  _ Adapt _ , learn how to  _ be  _ better, how to actually serve the needs of the galaxy,” she corrected. “Besides, that shouldn’t be too hard. It’s not like you have  _ any  _ records on their way of life.”

He rolled his eyes at her sisterly harassment.

“Some things that Ahsoka has told me — they do seem a little odd,” Luke confessed. “Did you know that children were taken to the Temple at a very young age? Ahsoka told me herself, she has no recollection of her parents, safe that they loved her.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said in a low voice.

“It’s a bit ironic in the end, wouldn’t you think?” he started, “I’ve spent my entire life longing for my parents, only to learn that the doctrine I’m dedicated to following wouldn’t allow me to have parents at  _ all _ .”

Leia chuckled quietly. It did seem a little absurd.

“Had the Empire not risen, we probably would have been taken from Padmé —  _ and  _ Anakin,” he digressed. “Well, not taken. Ahsoka made it clear to me that the Jedi didn’t take children away from their parents without their consent, but it’s a sad thought nonetheless. In any universe out there, Padmé was still destined to lose us at a young age. She was only lucky enough that, in this reality, she could find her way back to us again.”

“I’m sure the Jedi had their best intentions, but, yes,” she concurred. “A child’s greatest bond is with their parent. It must be traumatizing, to say the least, for a child to feel the loss of the only protectors they’ve ever known, no matter  _ prominent  _ the future promises to be.”

She lowered her gaze from the golden horizon.

“I was traumatized enough to be taken from my parents at the age of 19, I can’t imagine how hard it would have been to lose them at a young age and not have them to guide me through my childhood and teen years.”

Luke placed his hand on the small of her back. He didn’t think the scenarios were necessarily comparable, but he would never defame her anguishes.

“I think the Jedi intended to teach that only the Jedi Order would be their true family,” he suggested, “When a youngling reached a certain age, they became a Padawan, and a Jedi Master would instruct them. From what Ahsoka told me, the bond between Master and Apprentice was — was almost unbreakable. Maybe it was unbreakable after all. They acted as one, they… They were a  _ family _ . The Jedi Masters became the parental figure in their lives, to guide them through their teen years when they also needed guidance in the ways of the Force. It would seem that it’s a very unique but very beautiful bond.”

Leia looked at her brother curiously, sensing something else there.

“And Ahsoka was Anakin’s padawan?”

“Yes, she was,” Luke confirmed.

“And this is a father and daughter bond, you could say?”

“Yes,” he innocently affirmed. “Obi-wan was Anakin’s Master, and the strength of their bond remained long after Anakin had passed his trials and become a Jedi Knight, so they were often in battles together in the Clone Wars, Ahsoka following them close behind. She told me that she saw both of them as her father figures.”

Leia nodded at every word that poured out of his mouth. “So Ahsoka was, by all means, Anakin’s daughter?”

“Essentially, yes!”

She looked at him dead in the eyes and placed her hands condescendingly on his shoulders.

“Luke, you’re jealous.”

His jaw fell in astonishment, and he looked at her in pure horror. Then, his lips opened and closed several times as he tried to say something eloquent, and yet the only thing that escaped his mouth—

“Am not!”

She squinted a funny face to warrant her claim. “I’m afraid you are, little brother.”

“I’m not—How many times do I have to remind you that  _ I’m  _ the older sibling?”

“As many times as you feel necessary,” she shrugged, “You’ll  _ still  _ be my little brother.”

At that, his eyes found solace at the back of his skull.

“ _ Anyway _ —I’m not jealous, Leia,” he argued, trying to sound matter-of-factly and failing  _ miserably  _ — just not to knowledge. “I confess there’s a funny feeling inside my chest whenever I think of Ahsoka calling Anakin  _ dad _ , but I’m not jealous.”

“That  _ funny feeling  _ is called jealousy,” she derided him. “Hey—at least you figured out what your funny feeling was!”

She referred to their bantering of when Ahsoka first came into the picture, and he didn’t appreciate it in the slightest. 

“Have you maybe realized that your  _ annoying feeling  _ is coming from yourself?”

“Semantically, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Pragmatically?”

“Pragmatically — you’re still the one annoying me.”

He crossed his arms in offense, and Leia’s lips gently turned up.

Sighing to himself, he leaned against the railing again. “I’m not jealous, Leia, I  _ swear _ .”

“Nobody would you blame you if you  _ were _ .”

“I’m not. I’m happy that Ahsoka had the chance of knowing Anakin at his prime, of seeing the father figure on him that I always dreamed of. I just wish — I could have had that chance, too.”

Leia placed her hand over his, leaving it there. They were both looking out at the horizon again.

“I asked you if you resented me for having a good childhood,” she announced quietly, “Luke — I will never begrudge you for seeking a father figure on  _ him _ .”

Luke simpered discreetly, turning up his hand so he could properly hold hers.

“I wouldn’t fault you if you did.”

Leia shook her head sadly.

“You know, you might have had a poor background, you might even have lacked a basic education,” she said faintly, “You’ve still become a damn wise Jedi. Stoic, even. Don’t think for a second that I haven’t noticed your growth ever since I met that naïve farm boy all those years ago. You’ve grown for the best, and I’m incredibly proud of the Jedi you’ve become.”

He was taken by surprise by her sudden show of affection, and he took her words to his heart. Sometimes, the young child in him still seeking for his Uncle and Aunt’s approval spoke out, and hearing those words — hearing that someone was  _ proud  _ of him — brought sentimental tears to his eyes.

He laid his head on her shoulder; she beamed brightly trying to picture how much he had bent his body to do that.

“Thank you for being my sister, Leia.”

She furrowed her brows. “I don’t think I have much choice in that.”

Her comeback made him laugh, and his laugh allowed a single melancholic teardrop to escape.

“Will you for once forgo your moral high ground and let me appreciate you?”

“I don’t think that’ll be viable, no.”

“I’ll guess I’ll have to rephrase that so you won’t be able to rebuke me.”

“Can you even do that?”

“Yes…!” he cried. “Thank  _ you  _ for being the best sister I could ask for.”

She chuckled to herself, proud that, for once, she didn’t have the means or the desire to dismantle his words.

“You’re very welcome, Luke.”

She laid her head over his.

* * *

“Do you ever fight each other on which of you had the better deal?”

Ahsoka’s voice broke through and forced them to turn away from the Coruscanti skies to look at the Togruta. When she stepped into the balcony, she waited in silence for them to notice her presence there — after all, those were  _ the  _ children of Anakin Skywalker, she’d expect them to be powerful enough to simply feel her lingering there. And perhaps they were, but not when they were so immersed in their —  _ twin thing _ .

She called it their twin thing because she had no means of assessing what they had, other than that, whenever they were together, she felt a strong fortification within the Force — like they were one.

And what did she know; perhaps, they  _ were _ .

Luke beamed happily at her, while Leia didn’t seem altogether too pleased to have their privacy disrupted by her, but she held her composure. 

“It’s not a fight,” Luke said, amused that Ahsoka had brought up their same discussion of earlier. “It’s more like a mutual concordance.”

“Yeah,” Leia replied deadpan, “Luke was led by the Force into the desert to be tempted by the devil. If he could last the starvation and the thirst without turning into Vader Junior, then the Force would trust him enough to reinsert him into society and have him become a Jedi.”

Luke gazed at her with mild irritation, but it soon disappeared when he noticed Ahsoka laughing at his sister’s dry humor. In return, Leia’s lips barely turned up at Ahsoka’s delight. 

“Never mind her, she’s just jealous,” Luke provoked, “Her parents never let her play on the sand. It’s against royal protocol.”

“I’m glad they didn’t,” Leia returned, “Otherwise, I might have ended up eating  _ sand _ .”

He made a face, “I never ate sand.”

“You didn’t?” she looked at him warily, “How else would you explain the missing neurons?”

He opened his mouth to protest, but she wasn’t done—

“I know it doesn’t concern nature because  _ I  _ turned out alright,” she said, “Certainly this is a matter of nurture.”

He crossed his arms. “You take the fun out of everything.”

She simply shrugged.

Ahsoka softly cleared her throat to remind them she was still there. Then, both sets of eyes were back on her.

“Are you like this all the time?” she asked without malice.

“She is,” Luke grunted, receiving a glare from his sister.

Ahsoka chuckled softly. “Forgive my intrusion. I only ask because Anakin and I were bickering each other’s heads off all the time.”

“Do you need anything, Ahsoka?” Leia asked cordially while still standing her ground, resolute that  _ he  _ wasn’t a subject of conversation while she was around.

“No, I just came for some fresh air,” she answered simply, amiable, despite receiving Leia’s message loud and clear.

“Fresh air on Coruscant?” Luke snorted, “I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong planet.”

Ahsoka huffed, walking past and in between them towards the balcony. “I guess you’re right. Still, I always loved Coruscant. It was the place where I grew up, it was  _ home _ .”

She sighed, appreciating the view.

“You don’t get that sensation, that  _ nostalgia,  _ anywhere else.”

For some reason she couldn’t explain, Leia walked towards the edge as well. Her muscles rigid, her eyes on the scenery.

“No,” she whispered to herself, “You don’t.”

Puzzled, Ahsoka turned slightly around to face the princess and try to decipher her concealed change in mood.

“How often do you talk about Alderaan?” Ahsoka indecorously asked; behind them, Luke grimaced, already predicting Leia’s explosive reaction.

“I think that’s none of your business,” Leia replied sourly.

Ahsoka smiled sadly. “Anakin didn’t like to talk about his past either.”

By then, Luke was nearly pulling his hair off. If Ahsoka was looking to establish some bond with his sister, she  _ clearly  _ wasn’t helping herself.

Leia clenched her fists tightly. “My  _ father  _ was Bail Organa.”

Ahsoka clicked her tongue, turning around to rest her back against the railing. “Okay. Let’s talk about him, then.”

“Ahsoka,” she gave her a friendly warning, although there was nothing amicable in her voice.

“What?” Ahsoka asked, feigning innocence. “You don’t expect to avoid me until I go away again, do you?”

“It was working fine so far,” she snapped.

“It’s rather impolite, if you ask me,” Ahsoka continued, carelessly. “I know that your  _ father  _ raised you better than that.”

“Er,” Luke took a step ahead, determined to meddle before someone — namely, his  _ sister  _ — said something she would regret later. “I think we should all stop talking now. Listen to the silence, isn’t the sound of silence pleasant?!”

Leia rolled her eyes at him.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Luke,” Ahsoka answered honestly.

“What do you want, Ahsoka?” Leia asked again; this time, there was only animosity in her voice.

“I want to talk about Bail.”

Leia didn’t respond; if she wanted to talk about Bail Organa, then she would be talking to herself.

Instead — Ahsoka took Leia’s silence as an invitation to come closer. 

“I still can’t believe your father willingly chose to make Vader’s biological daughter the heir of the Alderaanian crowd, while raising you right under his nose,” Ahsoka commented, amused. “I’ve always known that Bail was a brave man, but  _ damn  _ — that was something else.”

Leia breathed out loudly and obnoxiously. By then, their elbows on the railing were nearly touching.

“I knew him from the Clone Wars, but we only became close after he recruited me to the Rebellion,” she continued. “I’ve been trying these past few days to remember if he ever hinted at me of your origins, checking if I knew of Anakin and Padmé’s fate as much as he did. Then I remembered this one specific time — I had just walked into him ending a call with you, and I asked if he wasn’t worried that his work in the rebellion would endanger  _ you _ . Which, of course, was a silly question. How couldn’t he be worried? But he still did it, because he was doing it  _ for  _ you. However, what he said to me after caught my attention the most.”

Leia faked apathy, although she was listening closely.

“He told me —  _ she’s a lot like her mother _ .”

Ahsoka let it linger in the air for a while before speaking again.

“He was testing me, inspecting if I knew who you were. Back then, I couldn’t interpret it. Today, I know exactly what he meant.”

“Yeah?” she tried to sound indifferent, but her hoarse voice went against her. “And what is that?”

“That there was no clipping your wings once you learned how to fly,” she said poetically. “You would worry him until his hair turned  _ grey _ , but you would still be out there trying to make a difference, and it wasn’t his place to stop your calling. You’re too much like your mother.”

Leia remained silent again, frowning when Ahsoka laughed to herself.

“He did keep an aquarium in his office to distract you while he tried to work on the rebellion, though,” she said. “Maybe, if he tried hard enough, you’d be more interested in  _ swimming  _ instead.”

Failing her composure, a chuckle dared to escape Leia’s lips.

“That’s the worst metaphor I’ve ever heard.”

“Really?” Ahsoka prompted, “You made it seem like you might have heard worse from  _ him _ ,” she pointed behind herself. 

“He doesn’t have the intellect to come up with metaphors.”

“ _ Hey _ ,” Luke loudly announced himself, “I understand my silence is  _ bliss _ , but I’m still here.”

Ahsoka waved her arm to silence him, and Luke at last understood — Ahsoka and Leia would easily start to gang on him as well.

He choked a laugh to himself, realizing he wouldn’t mind that.

“I’m just saying, Leia, I’m not your enemy,” she continued, “I’m just somebody who knew and deeply cared for your father — both of them.”

Leia’s face was grave again. “I don’t think you’re my enemy.”

Ahsoka pretended to be surprised. “Really, Your Highness, you might want to let us all in the memo next time.”

Leia rolled her eyes. Ahsoka smiled, knowing them to be in a better place.

“You know, in a different timeline, we would have been best friends,” she suggested. “Hadn’t it all gone to hell — I would have spoiled you  _ rotten _ .”

“Would you have spoiled me rotten too, Ahsoka?” Luke asked, eagerly.

“This is a girls only club, Luke,” Leia severed his happiness, and she could just see the smile dropping from his face, even on her back to him. “You wouldn’t be invited in the first place.”

“Good thing your name isn’t  _ Ahsoka _ ,” he pointed out.

Ahsoka giggled loudly, far too entertained with their bickering.

“Sorry, Luke,” she shifted slightly to look at him, and the sudden sadness in his face was eminent. “I’m quite certain you would team up with Obi-wan, though.”

Luke dramatically sighed. “I guess I’ll take it.”

Amusedly shaking her head, Ahsoka looked ahead again.

“You and I are more alike than you think, you know.”

“How’s that?” Leia genuinely asked.

“You see,” she incited, “We’re both the last standing relics of our homes. We’re children of lost words, carrying the burden of guiding the future generations in our principles without not truly knowing where we stand.”

Leia pondered on her words for a moment; taking them in.

Then, at last, she looked at Ahsoka, but her eyes digressed towards her brother as she whispered, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Your future generations are safe with him.”

Beaming proudly, Ahsoka looked at him as well. “I think so too.”

Luke, unable to hear what they were whispering about, suddenly felt quite uncomfortable under their piercing eyes. “You’re talking about me?”

“You’re not interesting enough,” Leia accused, Ahsoka making a face to ratify her statement.

Luke threw his arms up in redemption. “I wouldn’t have to put up with this if I hadn’t left Tatooine.”

“We can drop you off again, Luke. Just say the word.”

“I’m going inside now.”

“You’re rushing towards  _ mom,  _ to tell her that I was being mean to you so she’ll ground me?”

“ _ Exactly _ .”

The girls smirked as he turned to leave.

“I take it back,” Ahsoka announced, “We would have ended up great friends in every reality we found each other.”

Leia smiled silently at that, just in time to see Ameera almost swing the door open at Luke’s face.

Luke stumbled back at the force she was coming at him. “What’s the matter? Did someone die?”

“Yes,” Ameera concurred, almost out of breath. “ _ Dinner  _ did.”

Luke looked down on his stomach like it had magically started groaning. “Oh no, Ameera.”

“Oh no indeed,” Ameera spoke flatly, leaning against the doorway. “Han burned the rice. And the meat.”

“ _ Han _ ?” Leia asked, incredulous. “I’ve known Han for years and never once in his life did he ever ruin any meal. Ever.”

“ _ Fine _ . Is that what you want from me, Leia?  _ I  _ burned the dinner. Will you throw all my sins at my face now?!”

Leia ignored everything that came out of her mouth before and after her admission of guilt. “I’ll go help him out.”

Luke’s face was suddenly written in panic at her assertion just as Ameera hastily placed her arm from one side of the doorframe to the other to impede her passage.

“Actually—” Ameera started with a grim, “The  _ one  _ thing that Han said to me before he kicked me out of his kitchen was so that, if you expressed you would come in to ‘help’ him, I’d have his full permission to deck you.”

Leia gasped, offended. Luke put his hands together and looked at the sky, sending prayers of thanks. Leia smacked the back of his head.

Ahsoka crossed her arms, unable to get rid of the grin on her face — those really were Padmé and Anakin’s children in flesh and soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, just a breezy chapter so ahsoka will catch up on everything. i did love building their dynamics, though.
> 
> feedback appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Amor Matris (latin) is a term found in Joyce's Ulysses, and depending on the syntax of the phrase, it either means a mother's love for the child (subjective genitive), or a child's love for the mother (objective genitive). The ambiguity of this phrase is the epitome of this story. 
> 
> Appreciate a writer's effort to writing thousands of words for free and take the time to leave a comment. Your incentive is the solemn reason why we're still here :)
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> If you're enjoying the story and would like to support me, buy me a [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/dutiesofcare) or [commission me](https://ko-fi.com/dutiesofcare/commissions).
> 
>  **do not leave hateful comments.** if you don’t like the story, close the tab and move on with your life, it’s that simple.


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